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by sarapals with past50
Summary: Sara Sidle was promoted in 'Immortality'-and then she resigned. This is a story of what happened afterwards from the point of view of those most affected. Of course, it's GSR-eventually.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: A new story...set in the few hours after the CSI finale...Enjoy!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 1 **

Silence covered the office as the heavy door clicked closed shutting out the constant drone of murmuring noise in the building. The office was devoid of ridiculous tacky and vulgar clutter; not so much as a post-it note stuck to any surface. Professionally arranged awards, promotions, and official photographs covered one wall. A heavy wooden round table, placed near the framed accolades, was supposed to foster feelings of equality and cooperation, according to psychology experts. The table was seldom used.

Heavy drapes covered windows behind the impressive desk so anyone in the room could not see the ever-present brightness of Vegas. Only the soft light of lamps glowed in appropriate places around the office. Another indulgence to the advice of psychologists or decorators; the man at the desk could not remember. However, the lamps did work to confuse people coming in from the brilliant artificial brightness of the hallway. It always took a few minutes for eyes to adjust to the softer lights of the office.

Conrad Ecklie gave a heavy sigh as he sat at the custom-made desk, his hand rubbing over his eyes before raking across the top of his head. This was his creation, he thought. His bright idea of tracking down Gil Grissom had led to this fiasco. His jaw clinched; he knew the photos of the new lab director had already made the late night news.

He picked up the single white paper handed to him a few minutes earlier; Sara Sidle's resignation. His fingers pinched his nose as he leaned back in the plush-leather chair. A dull ache in his head was beginning to pound; he had not seen this coming.

When D.B. resigned, Ecklie had known he would put Sara in as lab director but he'd made a somewhat public effort to have a department wide search. Still holding the letter between his fingers, he closed his eyes and let his mind return to the first time he and Sara had crossed paths.

Everyone in the lab had been talking about the new girl from San Francisco who had arrived to help Grissom. The young CSI had been killed—Ecklie frowned as he attempted to remember her name—first or second day on the job—graveyard shift, he recollected, but the name did not return. Gil Grissom as supervisor had sent the girl out alone; no, Ecklie frowned again. Not alone; Warrick Brown was supposed to be with her but had left the scene.

Ecklie had known so many rules had been broken that resulted in the death of—of the girl who died. Grissom had managed to get Sara Sidle to Las Vegas to do some kind of independent investigation of what had happened—Ecklie clearly remembered questioning the process.

Then, Sara Sidle had stayed. On multiple occasions, he had arrived at work several hours early so he could watch this skinny girl who followed Grissom around like a puppy; deciding immediately that she wasn't his type, he had ignored her.

Grissom, not interested in politics or climbing a career ladder in the department, had gathered his little fan club of misfits around him while Ecklie had played the moves for advancement.

And advance he did.

Several years later, he had put Sara on leave for insubordination when she and Catherine were having a verbal altercation in the hallway. Such behaviors were not going to be tolerated on his watch—and if Grissom refused to control the woman, he would.

He didn't think about the aftermath. Grissom had not fired Sara; if anything, the event seemed to provide a bonding moment and he had realized Gil Grissom had a few powerful allies in high places.

Ecklie flipped the handwritten letter onto his desk and pressed fingers against his eyes as he tried to suppress the growing headache. He had not seen this coming—hadn't Sara moved on after the divorce. He'd thought she had but then realized he knew nothing of her life outside of work. He and his ex wives kept in touch but he wasn't in love with any of them-certainly none of them would give up a promotion with a substantial pay increase to chase him down to—what had Sara said?

"I'm following my heart."

He actually made a grunt of disgust as he remembered her words.

What else had she said? Something on the tape—would he erase the last minute or two of Heather Kessler's statement? What the hell was she talking about?

Reaching for the envelope, he shook the cassette into his hand and rolled his chair to the player sitting on the credenza. In a few minutes, he had found the end of the interview. Several seconds passed as the recorder continued; he heard the door open, Heather looked up and smiled.

That was another situation Ecklie would never understand—Heather Kessler and Gil Grissom—what were they to each other?

He watched as Gil Grissom took the chair; he heard Grissom's words to Heather Kessler and watched as the man left the room. He stopped the tape, punched rewind, started it again and listened to Grissom's acknowledgment a second time. Then Ecklie did something he had never done; he erased the last four minutes of the recording.

"Well," Ecklie murmured, "so that's it." Quietly, he sat in the office he loved, for several long moments.

Sometimes Conrad Ecklie regretted his own coolness. After years of playing political games, he had lost the capacity to be personally affected by much of what happened around him. Emotions were risky; they tended to distort the senses which led to foolhardy decisions. Those emotions were not going to ruin his career.

He rolled his chair back to his desk, took up the resignation letter, and read it again. Rubbing his chin, he clicked his keyboard a few times and brought up Sara Sidle's personal records. A few more clicks and he'd found what he wanted.

Ecklie, while he would never consider Sara a friend, had grown to appreciate her determination with no ambition to be more than a dedicated CSI. She made him look brilliant.

He made two decisions. He did not place her resignation into the record. Sara had more leave on the books than he did, so with a few clicks, he put her on indefinite leave with continued pay until her hours of leave were exhausted. As he made the last keystroke, he said softly, "I think you'll be back."

His second action involved strolling through phone numbers until he located Catherine Willows. He admitted only to himself that Sara had suggested this; he would offer the director's job to Catherine as interim—only as long as it took for Sara to return. Catherine had thrown out enough hints that she'd like to be back in Las Vegas and, if he were a betting man, he'd bet Catherine would not want the job as lab director for long. Sam Braun's money would be in easy reach for her and the lab would take up too much time.

Pressing the number, he cleared his throat before he heard Catherine's voice.

"Conrad!" She said.

"Hey, Catherine. Do you have a minute?"

Ecklie heard her soft laugh before she said, "Sure."

_**A/N: First time we've started a story with Conrad! We want to hear from you! Thanks for reading and for your support!**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you for the positive response! We appreciate all of you, especially those who leave reviews, comments! The second chapter...**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 2 **

The apartment complex was similar to dozens of others in Vegas. Built to house the hundreds of new residents coming into the city every day, the square squat pile of bricks and fake wood sat in the middle of three blocks of what had been a lower-income neighborhood of small concrete block houses with driveways and patches of grass in front yards. Other than a sign along the street, there was little to notice about the repeated design of the complex.

Mostly law abiding citizens lived in the buildings, but tonight, the crime of murder had occurred that brought the crime scene investigators to one of the buildings. They had bagged, tagged, and dusted, found a diary belonging to the dead woman, and a bat and an electric knife that were probably murder weapons.

A sad case, the two crime scene investigators had decided. The husband had already confessed to killing his wife's lover—the lover, the first body reported, had been found in the unit's dumpster. After a quick search of the apartment, officers had called for the CSIs who found the wife's body stuffed in the back of a closet. All were certain the husband would confess to his wife's murder as soon as presented with evidence gathered by the CSIs.

They were nearly finished when Greg Sanders' phone went off. He checked his phone only because the ringtone was the one he had set for Sara. And if she messaged him while on a crime scene, he knew it was important.

With surprise, he read the message and said, "I'll be right back" to Henry who was already packing the last of the evidence bags. As Greg made his way outside, he considered possibilities as to why his new boss would text him to meet her outside the crime scene.

He was surprised again to see Sara leaning against her car, not the department vehicle issued to the lab director; her arms were crossed as she appeared to be looking away from him. God knew he loved this woman—had loved her for years before he'd decided he loved her as a sister not as a potential lover. Her face was in the shadow of the street light as he approached; hearing his footsteps, she turned toward him and a quick smile passed across her mouth before she pressed her lips together in a familiar show of worry.

"So what brings you here?" He asked, knowing she was going to send him to another scene yet immediately puzzled by her arrival in her car.

Sara surprised him by unfolding her arms, stretching both in his direction, and stepping forward. As her arms closed around him in an unexpected hug, he knew something was wrong.

Before he could think, she said, "I'm leaving, Greg. I've resigned." Keeping her arms around him, in a rush of words, she told him of Grissom's admission on the tape. "If I don't go, I'll always regret it," she added.

A sudden ache filled his chest; he knew her decision was made. She had loved Gil Grissom with such determination that it made Greg want to do the man physical harm—nothing permanent but something so he'd know the pain Sara had lived with for years.

With that thought, he hugged her tightly, squeezed his eyes shut against the wetness forming, and asked, "What can I do?"

He felt the shake of her head before she said, "My house—would you check on it? I'm not sure when I'll be back."

Pulling away, Greg asked, "Do you know where he is?"

Sara made a soft laugh, saying, "He came from San Diego—I'm hoping to find him there."

"San Diego is a big place, Sara—lots of places for boats." Greg pulled her back into a hug. "Go pack a bag—do you have a flight?" When she nodded, he asked, "Do you have time to stop at the diner? I'll get everyone there to say good-bye."

"Not everyone—just the rest of the team. I want to tell them—Ecklie will take care of the rest."

Greg kept his arms folded around her. He said, "I'm going to miss you every day." Softly, he chuckled. "Come back to visit—don't stay away to long."

For a long moment, the two remained together.

Sara, patting Greg's back, said, "I have to go—I—I need to pack a few things—stop my mail."

"What time is the flight? Do you have time to stop at the diner?"

The twenty-four hours-a-day diner had changed over the years yet remained a favorite for law-enforcement who did not seem to mind that the place had been the scene of multiple murders. In the early hours of the day, Greg knew there would be empty tables and hot food.

She nodded. "I'll be there in an hour—flight leaves at five-thirty."

Before releasing her, he asked, "Can I help find Grissom? I know a guy in San Diego."

Sara grinned, saying, "Nick? I'd already thought I might call him."

"I'll call—maybe he can track him down before you get there."

"I don't want him to know I'm coming—if I surprise him, he won't have time to think of reasons I can't join him."

Greg laughed. "Go! I'll get Morgan and Hodges to the diner—and I'll call Nick."

_**A/N: Thank you for loving GSR as we do! Ecklie, Greg, and a third coming up! **_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thanks to everyone who is reading! Now...the next chapter of 'discovery'! Enjoy!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 3 **

Catherine Willows searched the hallways of the lab looking for her daughter. She knew Lindsey would be doing the same thing all new employees had done for a decade—reading policy and procedure manuals, reading case files, trying to stay awake in the quietness of the night shift.

The new lighting—softer, soothing, more subtle than when she worked these halls—almost invited sleepiness yet it was also in stark contrast to what CSIs had to face every shift. Renovation and expansion of the lab put her sense of direction off-kilter. Even the shade of blue on the walls had changed; there were more glass windows and less visible equipment. The noise was subdued as if someone had put an insulated blanket over anything that made noise. Even the smell of the place had changed.

For years, she had trod these halls and knew every inch by heart; every lamp, every door, she could have found with her eyes closed. More employees, more space, and more security meant funding had flowed into forensics in recent years.

Turning a corner, she glanced in a small conference room to find Lindsey sitting at a table with feet propped on a chair, a mountain of notebooks near one elbow, a stack of case files in front of her.

"Hey, how's it going?"

Lindsey Willows was surprised to see her mother standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" The younger woman asked. A look of relief revealed her need for a reprieve from her reading.

"Ecklie called. I was sitting with Jim at the hospital," Catherine said as she walked into the small room with one long table in its center and brightly colored posters on the wall. She had been gone long enough for the lab to be completely remodeled and could not remember this space from her years of working in the lab. She asked, "What's this room supposed to be?"

"In-service," Lindsey replied with a grin. "Or, in my case, new employee reading case files room!" She held up a thick folder, adding, "I got to read all of the notes on the bombings—and watched several interviews." Her eyes widened; she grinned, saying, "And I got to hear something you're gonna love."

Catherine pulled out a chair and sat across the table from her daughter. "Would this have something to do with Grissom and Sara?"

The younger woman's face registered disappointment as she said, "You heard already?"

With a quiet chuckle, Catherine shook her head. "I haven't heard—but," she placed her hand on the table with the gold shield of lab director in her palm. "Ecklie asked if I'd be interim director—for an undetermined time. Sara resigned—or she's on leave—Ecklie wasn't real clear. He's never been much for romance but his words were 'Sara's gone to follow her heart'."

If possible, Lindsey's eyes grew larger. Softly, she said, "So she did watch it."

Catherine waited, curling her fingers in a motion indicating 'tell me'.

"I watched the video of Heather Kessler and the camera wasn't cut off when she finished. Mr. Grissom came in and did this—this confession speech about how much he loves Sara—how he was going to miss her for the rest of his life!"

Catherine's mouth opened but no words came out.

Lindsey smiled; delighted she was telling her mother new information. She continued, "Oh, Mom—he was so sweet! I mean—he was talking to another woman about his heart and how Sara helped him with crosswords—all on the tape! He sounded so lonely but it was so romantic!" She stopped and frowned before asking, "Why did they divorce? Did he leave her to—to go do his save-the-sharks thing?

"Anyway—I thought Sara needed to hear it. So I took her the tape and—and kind of suggested she watch the end of it. I thought she—she needed to know, right?" Her smile had returned; softly, she laughed, saying, "I didn't think she'd leave—that's what she's done, isn't it? She's gone to find him! Oh! I hope they get back together!"

For several long moments, Catherine was speechless before she started laughing—giggling like a school girl. Not expecting this reaction, her daughter was puzzled by her mother's sudden amusement.

After waving a hand as if she needed more air, Catherine caught her breath between giggles and said, "What a story this is going to make—we'll be talking about this for years!"

Lindsey's look of bewilderment provided Catherine a reason to expand. She said, "Years ago, when Grissom left the lab, he went to Costa Rica to Sara—she'd left the lab months before—do you remember the time she was kidnapped? I never thought she'd return, but she did—by then, the two had married. So this time, Sara's gone to find him!" Her voice became a whisper, "Did I understand you—Grissom told Heather he loved Sara?"

"He did—how he had a shell around his heart and he learned to love Sara and still loves her. It was sweet—he—he's kind of different than a lot of people. I remember that from when I was a kid. He was in the background a lot but didn't have much to say." Lindsey's eyes brightened as she remembered a time when Sara had caught her rifling through files and had kept it quiet. She said, "I like Sara—she was always nice to me."

"Yes," admitted Catherine, "Sara is nice. She helped me out more than once—and kept quiet." She remembered the morning she called Sara to a run-down motel and asked for help. Sara had never revealed to anyone what had happened.

"And, she's always loved that stubborn, socially inept Gil Grissom," Catherine said. Then she laughed, adding, "What I wouldn't give to be a bug watching this reunion!" Patting the table, she said, "Let's find some coffee—I'm sure there is a break room around here somewhere."

"Do you think they will get back together—I mean, long-term?"

Standing, Catherine gave her daughter a broad smile as she said, "Yes—those two just needed a shove in the right direction—and you did it!"

As extremely pleased look appeared on Lindsey's face. She said, "Oh, I hope so! I hope they keep saving the sharks and do crosswords together and have lots of kids!"

Catherine laughed as she motioned for her daughter to join her. "Well, for now, I say we go find coffee. And then, maybe we'll hear from Sara. If she's going to find Gil, she's heading to San Diego." Catherine wrapped an arm around Lindsey's shoulders as they left the room. She said, "I'm going to need a tour of the lab—things have changed!"

Laughing, Lindsey said, "Now, you are my boss."

Chuckling, Catherine laughed, saying, "Yeah, I am—funny how things work out, isn't it?"

_**A/N: Thank you for reading...please take a minute to let us hear from you! More coming soon!**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: The chapter some of you have been waiting to read...Enjoy!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 4 **

Determined not to ask for additional pain meds, Jim Brass was miserable, unable to sleep, hated hospitals in general, and wished he could be at home on his own sofa watching the weather channel. His right arm and hand were wrapped in bandages; his right shoulder and a large portion of his back covered with gauze made it nearly impossible to lie on his back.

A line ran from a bag of fluids above his head to a needle in his left arm. He sighed, hoping the antibiotics were doing their work. A bank of machines above his head had a dozen blinking lights and several clicking and humming sounds that were loud enough to be irritating.

The attending physician had been reluctant to provide a prognosis for the injuries Brass had received describing several burned areas as severe second degree burns exacerbated by his clothes burning into his flesh. All Brass wanted to do was go home but knew that wasn't going to happen for a few days.

Before Catherine left, after getting an unexpected and puzzling call from Ecklie, he'd ask for the blinds to be open but the view was a night time glow from a parking lot and a seldom used exit into a quiet street. He had dozed off, woke due to pain, and remained restless yet trapped in bed.

Catherine had provided a distraction: first with the story of multiple bombs and then—he'd laughed until he hurt—with her version of the interview with Heather Kessler. He did not remind her of her lack of recognizing the love affair between Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle going on under her eyes. Just the thought had caused him to laugh harder.

He smiled as he thought about the young woman who had showed up in Vegas so many years ago. He'd known within months that Sara Sidle was becoming devoted to Grissom in more than a working relationship; it had taken his stubborn friend more years than Brass cared to think about to make up his mind about Sara. While everyone else was looking elsewhere—busy with their own lives, perhaps—Gil Grissom fell in love with Sara Sidle and had finally acted on his feelings.

For a while the relationship had been an off-and-on courtship. Brass had been ready to slap some common-sense into his friend at times; the two had been very careful but he'd noticed the glances, the arrival of vegetarian dinners—Gil Grissom had always been a meat-eater—and the discreet touches. After all, he was a detective. He smiled at his memories of that time.

Now, Sara would be the lab director. Grissom seemed to have disappeared—again. Catherine was not sure where the man had gone—he wasn't one for saying goodbye—she said he'd left town as quickly as he had arrived. Brass knew Gil Grissom did not want to be around for long because several people might give him an old fashioned tongue-lashing for how the man had treated Sara. From the 'divorce-by-phone' to the apparent continued contact with the whip woman while ignoring Sara who continued to be devoted to her absent-ex-husband. Brass knew as a fact that Sara still kept photos of the two sitting around and had boxes of Grissom's belongings stored at the house.

Any time Brass thought about the situation, he wanted to drink himself into an angry stupor which was never a good thing to do. Heather Kessler had always been available to any number of highly-placed men in Las Vegas and Gil Grissom was a fool to think he was the only one on her speed-dial. Years ago, he had given up any attempts to change Grissom's mind on his friendship with the woman.

Agitation on his part became intense pain. Resigned, he slowly moved his legs, tried to use one foot to scratch the other, and stared at the window. The white walls, white ceiling, the standard hospital lighting and a small television on the wall were going to drive him crazy if he had to be in this bed for very long.

In the reflection of the window, he saw the door open a few inches and a shaft of brighter light fell across the floor. Maybe a nurse, he thought, as fingers appeared around the door. A shadowy figure took shape, entered the room, and as he turned his head away from the window, he knew it was no nurse checking on him.

"Sara," he said in a voice hoarse and groggy from sleep—or lack of sleep. "How's it going, honey? I heard you've moved up the ladder."

Sara stopped at the end of the bed and, as if she knew his foot was restless, placed her hand on Brass' foot giving it a light massage with warm fingers. She said, "I was afraid you'd be asleep but I had to come by."

"You could have waited—Catherine was here for awhile." He raised a bandaged arm and waved for her to come around the bed. He said, "I'm kinda stuck here—if I tried to run, I'd look like a mummy."

She came to the bedside and pulled a chair near the bed. Once seated, he could see the worried concern on her face so he said, "I'm fine—just a little beat up—burned up—didn't touch my handsome face." He grinned, showing his teeth in a look that resembled a caricature of a teeth-baring small dog.

Reaching for his hand, Sara gently enclosed his bandaged hand with hers. She said, "I came for a reason, Jim. I've always considered you to be one of my best friends." With a quick smile, she added, "Like the father I wish I'd had."

With her words, he smiled; a genuine grin that made pain disappear for a few moments. He tried to blink away the sudden wetness that flooded his eyes, managed to nod his head, and make an agreeable sound in his throat.

Sara moved her hand to his face and gently stroked his cheek. The corners of her mouth turned down in sadness.

"I'm going to be fine, Sara. Give me a few days and I'll be back at the casino—grumpy as ever."

As her finger caressed his face, she managed to smile again before saying, "I want your approval for what I'm going to do." With a rush of words, she said, "I—I'm leaving Vegas, Jim. Something I should have done months ago—I—I'm going to find Gil."

Her eyes closed; her dark lashes glittered with a line of tears. "I've resigned," she said. When her eyes opened, shiny with emotion, she continued, "He—he still loves me. I thought—all this time—I thought he'd moved on—but he said…"

She stopped and wiped fingers across her eyes, smiling as she did. "I'm on my way to the airport hoping I can find him in San Diego. I handed in my resignation and," softly, she laughed, "Ecklie was nice about it. I suggested Catherine for the job—she wants to get back to Vegas."

Surprised, Brass had never expected this and, while his brain was fuzzy from lack of sleep, he managed a response. He said, "Go! Go find the fool and—and give him a piece of my mind." He chuckled, saying, "I know you've always loved the man—and if he's got the sense God gave a bird, he loves you."

Sara nodded her head. She said, "He—he said he missed me helping with his crosswords."

Rolling his eyes, he said, "Please—please—go help him with his crosswords!" Laughter rolled from deep within his chest. "Don't forget about us—let me hear from you—both of you. I'm here if you need anything—anything. I wish I had a good woman who would help me with my crosswords."

"You've never…"

"No, I haven't—now—go! Maybe you'll find him before he gets arrested again. Can I check on your house? Water your plants?"

"When you can—you and Greg—I'll be back. I've packed a small bag—not much."

Another chuckle came from Brass as he said, "So you're folding your hand and leaving the game."

With a nod, Sara smiled at his reference to poker; she leaned over and kissed his forehead, whispering. "You know I love you."

"Kiddo, you'll always be my favorite person—always. Get out of here before I demand you stay and take care of me! I'll always love you—call me if you need anything. I mean anything, okay?"

She promised, kissed him again, and was gone as quick as she had arrived.

Brass rolled to his back and ignored the pain flashing across his shoulders. He managed to chuckle at how life continued. Maybe, he thought, there was hope for these two—hope for love.

The pain caused him to turn to his side and he gazed out at the night. He could see a yellow taxi leaving the parking lot and, in his mind, he imagined it was Sara heading to the airport.

He wasn't a praying man, but he whispered a short prayer for safety and love for Sara and his old friend.

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! We appreciate hearing from readers who take time to send a review, a comment, and kind words! Love live GSR!**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thank you for continuing to follow this story! Enjoy! **_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 5 **

She had cut it close, but wasn't the last passenger to board; two men were running behind her on the jet bridge. Once on the plane, the flight attendant helped her find a space to stow her roll-aboard and she willingly took the seat in front of the exit row because it was empty. Passengers avoided the seats because they didn't recline. Sara Sidle didn't care about reclining; she knew she wasn't going to sleep on the one hour flight to San Diego.

Sara had rolled the slip of paper given to her by Greg and slipped it in her pocket; almost afraid to look at it even after Greg had given her the thumbs up sign as she left the diner. Her fingers touched the edge of the paper as a talisman providing magic—an address and a bloat slip number.

Everyone had been so kind, so sweet, and encouraging as she'd made her announcement. Hodges looked as if he did not believe she was doing this but he had smiled and wished her luck. Henry had tears in his eyes. Morgan was enthusiastic, offering to help Greg check the house. And dear Greg; he'd said few words, given her the note with information he'd gotten from Nick, and walked her to the waiting taxi.

"Call me—in three days—or text me," he said. "I want to know everything has worked out." He hugged her, whispering, "I'll send the Coast Guard, the FBI, and—and Paul Watson if I don't hear from you, seriously."

They had laughed, made promises, and she'd had to run to the gate with minutes to spare.

To keyed-up and anxious to relax as the airplane readied for departure, she watched the hive of workers wearing orange vests and yellow lights purposefully work to ready the plane. Behind her, she heard a voice, low and soft, singing a recognizable phrase… "I'm leaving on a jet plane…" The woman's voice continued singing several lines of the song and laughed when she stopped. Sara could appreciate the words to the iconic song; at one time, her mother had sung this song and had danced around their apartment wishing she could fly on a jet. Sara could not remember her father being around.

She would not think about her mother, she thought. Two boxes of ashes sat on a shelf in a closet; she had not been able to make plans for actual burial or dispersion for Laura Sidle or for Betty Grissom. Pushing her thoughts of the two woman away, she gazed out of the window, watching the workers around the plane.

Slowly, the airplane was pushed back and began a slow taxi; its engines increased speed and the plane began rolling along the tarmac, faster with a blur of lighted landscape as it lifted into the air.

In the gray, early hours of the morning, the lights along the strip seemed brighter; larger than she remembered. Illuminated towers of hotels and casinos spread along an ever-expanding district of glowing blue, white, red and gold glittering brightness surrounded by fainter lights of spreading suburbs—appearing as insignificant pale surfs bending in subservient homage to the king's bright castle. As the plane climbed, she could see the lines of street lights abruptly end, marking the federal boundary of Red Rock Canyon area.

As the plane ascended into the sky, exhaustion won and she slept, not realizing she had done so until the flight attendant's announcement woke her and from the window she could see the faint edge of dawn in the east as the plane turned on approach to the single runway of the San Diego airport.

Her thoughts went immediately to Gil Grissom.

Meeting him had been the best thing that ever happened to her, she thought. The thrill of recognition by a near-god had stayed with her since that day. Others had said he was a boring speaker; a few whispered the man was a genius, an admired investigator who seldom lost a case and did not care what was said about him.

Somehow, he had agreed to go with her to dinner—just the two of them—and they found they could talk about anything. Later, after years in Vegas, she could look back on a certain time as when all demons could be conquered and when friends and co-workers marched for truth and justice. She felt her life had settled into a new, better pattern; a satisfaction she had never known—until she realized that happiness doesn't last. Horrible things happen to Nick, Greg, Warrick; her own demons had carried her in search of peace that was not found. Yet, she had walked to the edge of a dark abyss and managed to step into new space.

Grissom came to Costa Rica, assuring her she was loved, he'd always loved her; she smiled at the memory of his sudden appearance in the rain forest. He'd been afraid she would not welcome him, afraid he would be turned away.

Pressing fingers over her eyes, she kept tears from rolling down her cheeks. The memories were fresh, happy, unforgettable in her mind. It was later when her imagination had formed a thousand possible reasons that caused him to fall out of love with her; as a child, she had known she was an unloved little girl. Her own parents could not love her so why should he.

He had left her, their home, his mother to do what he loved without her—in the beginning of their separation, they were so confident in knowing life would be better in a few weeks, in six months, or next year and it wasn't that either of them took a wrong turn or they'd had a harsh argument. They—she had been unhappy with the weeks of separation—were working on different continents, in different time zones; he had abruptly joined a non-profit ocean environmental group and finding time to talk had become difficult. Actual visits stretched into months of separation and, in one brief conversation, Grissom told her she needed to move on without him. She could remember her stunned silence lasting until the phone signaled the line was no longer active. She'd been so shocked, so bewildered—a punch to her gut—that weeks had passed before she had told anyone. Yet, even after she'd signed divorce papers that arrived by carrier, she knew one thing; she would never love another as she loved Gil Grissom.

She managed a smile, felt for the paper in her pocket and pulled it out. She knew how he'd felt coming to her and every cell in her body knew he would welcome her arrival today.

As the wheels touched the ground, she drew a deep breath as she looked at the address. It meant nothing to her—a harbor and a boat slip number—yet it meant everything. He'd be there—she could have no other thought, no other ending to their story.

When she exited the plane, she was so intensely focused on leaving the terminal that she had not realized her name was called; not until a hand touched her shoulder and a quiet, familiar voice said her name.

"Nick!" Taken by surprise, Sara responded to her friend with a hug.

"Hey, girl! Welcome to San Diego," he said as he returned the affectionate hug. "I—I'm not going with you—this is between you and Grissom! But I've got a taxi driver waiting—we're cutting it close but he swears he'll get you there."

When Sara released him, he could see her puzzled face. He added, "Grissom got his boat released late yesterday but he's got to fuel up before he leaves."

"How…"

Nick Stokes laughed a warm, reassuring sound to Sara's ears. He said, "I asked a couple of officers to keep an eye on him—his boat. He was out for about an hour early this morning buying supplies and got back a few minutes ago."

Taking her roll-aboard from her hand, they walked a short distance where Nick wiped a card across a scanner pad and opened a door. "Short cut," he said as they headed down a flight of stairs.

A minute later, he opened the door of a yellow taxi, placed her roll-aboard on the seat, and stepped back so she could get into the car.

"Let me know—something," he whispered as Sara hugged him again.

"You don't think I'm crazy?"

Nick laughed, again the warm sound Sara had loved for years. He said, "No, I don't think you are crazy—go to him—keep him safe!" He chuckled, saying, "And one day come to visit me—without getting arrested!" Shaking his head with laughter, he waved his hand toward the back seat. "Get in—hurry!"

"Thank you—thank you."

The taxi driver repeated the address Sara held in her hand and made a comment about a quick ride to the harbor. Sara crawled into the car, waved at Nick as the car pulled away, and before she could gather thoughts about what was happening, the driver pointed to a large marina.

He said, "I'm to wait—make sure you get where you're going." Five minutes later, he pulled to a stop and pointed in the direction of a line of boats.

Sara handed the man several bills, well over the amount on the meter. "Thank you—I'll—I'll leave my bag—I don't know what..."

The driver nodded, saying, "I know—I know—wait for you!"

As she got out of the taxi, she heard a song from his radio. He'd turned the volume up as she'd closed the door and the melody of the rhyming words of the song seemed to play as a hopeful prediction of the future. She stepped on the dock and yards away, she saw the man she'd never stopped loving.

Without recalling how she knew the name of the object in his hands, Gil Grissom was pulling boat fenders onto his boat. Before she could call his name, he looked up and she knew the shock of discovery—of recognition—was the same realization she'd felt all those years ago when he'd walked into the research station in Costa Rica.

A tentative smile formed, nervous, anxious, and then relief, certainty flooded her body when he stepped toward her. Like her, his face reflected a quick hesitation for a moment before his hand reached toward hers; his hands were on her waist as she stepped on board; her hands went to his shoulders and in a moment, a thousand doubts disappeared. Long dark days vanished in a flash as their arms went around each other.

Sara knew the past did not matter; her broken heart was new and everything was beautiful again. Their story had a new beginning. Deeply, she sighed; as arms tightened around her, she placed her forehead against the shoulder of the only man she'd ever love.

_**A/N: And thank you for your kind comments! More to come-a few more chapters for Sara and Grissom to be together! **_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Sorry for the late arrival of this chapter! Enjoy! Perhaps 2 more chapters for this story.**_

**FOLD **

**Chapter 6**

Gil Grissom had fled Las Vegas as soon as possible for the sanctuary of his boat. His back was stiff from the cleaning he had undertaken; a boat left unattended meant birds had a roost and they had certainly left messy splatters of bird poop on the wind screen and the deck. Working into the night, he had managed to clean the top side before falling into an exhausted yet fitful sleep.

Early in the morning, he had taken time to buy supplies but solitude on the open ocean was what he sought and mid-morning tides were running in his favor. Checking his watch, he verified the time, knowing he had a window of several hours before the tide turned.

The trip to Vegas had not been the most pleasurable of his life. He had plunged into the bombing case knowing in his gut that Heather Kessler was a victim of the actual bomber—set up to appear as the murderer—and in her mental state, she could have been charged with multiple counts before realizing the seriousness of incriminating evidence. He left Vegas knowing Heather Kessler would survive, hopefully in a better state after hearing how she had helped him. Which was almost true; years ago, he'd recognized the loneliness of Heather's life and decided he did not want his life to continue in the same direction.

But it wasn't Heather who disrupted his thoughts, his peace of mind.

It had taken all his will power to keep his feelings hidden. Sara—dear, loved Sara. She'd said his name and his months of resolve disappeared to release an impulse to take her into his arms; he had been stricken speechless. But the look of her eyes, the set of her jaw showed that she expected nothing from him. He immediately determined he would control his emotions, close his thoughts of what might have been, and work to help solve the bombings.

He had been wordless as she had driven to Heather's house, astonished as well as disappointed that Sara seemed well-established in Vegas, pointing to new buildings and talking about the explosive growth of the city. How could he have forgotten—no, he had not forgotten; he had chosen to suppress her brilliance, her natural enchantment, those magnificent eyes in the months he'd been away. But dear God, he missed her every day.

Before he'd had time to settle his mind and come to terms with his feelings, they had arrived on Heather's porch. Even now, a smile twitched his mouth as he remembered her words on the porch. But then the case took such twists and turns—blood in Heather's house, another explosion, bomb making paraphernalia found in the basement—that what was exchanged between them was no more than what was polite and expected.

In the lab, he had thought they had made a beginning—a new beginning—but he was in no position to say how good a one. He recalled the expressions on Sara's face as they had talked. Her genuine interest and cool politeness with no trace of aversion had caused him to—to—have hope. But when they were alone again, she'd remained quiet, giving no indication of what he should say as they waited for the bees to return. And return they did—the bees—quickly, quicker than he'd thought they would.

After that, after the bomber was discovered and arrested, as he watched her received a much deserved promotion, she had been so self-confident, so beautiful—he'd been at a loss for words, fumbling as she quietly yet firmly told him goodbye. At that moment, it seemed his heart closed into a shell.

Pausing in his work, he looked to the west, to the ocean beyond the harbor. The ocean would distract him. His work would consume his time, his thoughts, yet he knew at day's end, just as he'd done for—for more months than he would admit—he would think of Sara, the words they had exchanged, the time spent in her company, would crowd his brain and his heart before he slept.

He knew he loved her. He would always love her. Yet instead of loving her as a husband, due to his own self-seeking need for something new and different in life, he had abandoned the one woman who understood him, who loved him, who could meet him with intelligence as well as passion. He grabbed a rough rope and pulled it through his hands, the coarse twine raw against his palm.

As he readied his boat for setting out, the last few tasks to be done in order so nothing was forgotten, he managed to stop his mind from running back and forth to what might have been. Slowly, he cast off each line, coiling each rope before tossing them on deck, throwing a stern rope onto the dock. With one line keeping the boat tied to the dock, he brought in the fenders, dropping each one into the boat. As he turned with the largest one, he glanced at the lone figure on the main dock walking toward him—an instantly recognizable woman and the light in those beautiful eyes struck him like a thunderbolt.

Sara—Sara—every nerve in his body came alive yet he seemed unable to move in any purposeful manner. Sara—here! Denial came in a flashing instant, rapidly dismissed as the woman he loved stopped—hesitant. A quick smile and then a beautiful confusion on her face as his hand found hers. His hands moved to her waist—this was real; she was here.

He did not know how long they stood on the boat's deck. Long minutes passed as they held each other, finding a returned familiarity in the caress as their hands touched, the soft whisper of her warm breath, and the similar beating of hearts. Finally, at long last, he kissed her finding a contentment he had almost forgotten.

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! We appreciate hearing from readers. Two more chapters-perhaps more-until this one is finished. **_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: A new chapter...enjoy! **_

_**We can wrap this one up with one more chapter-or several chapters. Your comments, suggestions?**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 7 **

The air was clean-edged, salt-tinged; the morning sun brought a warm breeze to the marina. Birds sailed overhead searching for a free meal, an easy perch. A boat, its wake sending a series of small, splashing swells, cruised toward the open ocean. None of this was noticed by the two people intertwined on the_ Ishmael_.

At some point, the cab driver left Sara's roll-aboard on the dock next to the boat saying "I guess you caught him" and waved a hand as Grissom offered money to him. He said, "She was worried you'd left her behind."

Gil Grissom's eyes never left Sara's face as he said, "I don't think I'll ever leave her again."

After re-tying the boat to the dock, Grissom spent a blissful hour showing Sara around the boat. He loved her questions and loved her response to his musty smelling sleeping quarters. She waved her hand under her nose and gave him that well-remembered rise in the corner of her mouth that transformed her face into that of the young woman he had met in San Francisco.

They ate in a nearby café and shopped at the harbor store —he knew Sara wasn't going to eat sausages and canned spaghetti—for more food and new towels. And they talked. Stories poured out of them easily. He talked about the boat and the organization he belonged too—an assorted group of like-minded boat owners, nothing between them was official, no non-profit legal paperwork to trace anyone, occasionally meeting each other but no one person knew how many people were actually involved in tracking poachers, illegal fishing, or other activities considered jeopardizing to wildlife.

She asked, "If you'd gotten arrested, there was no one to call?"

Shaking his head, he said, "You are on your own—I mean—I'd make a phone call but there is no bail money—nothing like that."

Sara talked about books she'd read, about her time in Vegas and how she'd learned to make repairs around the house, and said very little about her work. She did not mention their dog who had died after a short illness nor either mother.

Before dusk, Grissom released the ropes and powered his boat toward the setting sun. The sun painted a sky in pinks and purples and left its light underneath the ocean long after sundown. After an hour, with Sara standing by his side, Grissom turned the boat east, motoring around the curve of the Navy Base, under the high sweep of the Coronado Bridge, and into the smaller Glorietta Bay.

Sara had insisted they could sleep on the boat; Grissom was adamant they would not spend their first night together in many months in the cramped and smelly berth. He had called one of the small hotels near the marina and reserved a room for one night.

It wasn't the place Sara expected. She knew of the grand hotel with the well-known red roof but Grissom led her to another place, a large imposing guest house across the street from the marina. A wide white staircase, an ornate fountain, exquisitely polished brass, magnificent flowering plants; everything to make an awe-inspiring entrance. And she was impressed, slightly intimidated, by the place—and this was while she was standing in the lobby. Within minutes, Grissom was at her side with a young man who reached for her suitcase.

He said, "I'll show you to your room."

He continued talking, quietly about the hotel and its amenities as they followed him to the grand staircase, up two flights to the third floor, where he opened the door to a spacious and beautiful bedroom.

Sara turned to Grissom with an astonished look; he smiled and shrugged his shoulders, whispering, "Short notice."

The man who had accompanied them quickly placed their two bags in the closet, gave a few details about the room and the private deck, and left them standing in the middle of a beautiful bedroom.

Slowly, Sara turned, taking in the king-size bed, the two walls of windows that provided views of the marina where Grissom had left the boat and farther away, the lights of San Diego, the open French doors to a deck with a couple of chaise lounges. Wishing they had taken the room for more than one night, she reached out with her right hand and touched Grissom's left cheek.

Grissom stepped closer. "I've been a fool, Sara. I've dreamed about you—your eyes, your hands, your voice." Her fingers moved to touch his mouth, in a motion to stop his words. He leaned forward and kissed her, tenderly, then kissed her again as passion sparked in him.

He felt her hand on his shoulder, squeezing and gently pushing him away. She turned around, took his hand and led him towards the bathroom. She'd heard the porter mention a Jacuzzi tub and she meant to enjoy it.

When Grissom realized her intentions, he laughed, saying, "I'm calling room service."

Filling the tub took longer than the call to room service; when Grissom returned to the bathroom Sara, still dressed, was standing at the large window.

He said, "I'm taking a shower. A quick one." Dropping his jacket, he pulled his shirt over his head, stopping when it was around his neck. "Join me," he indicated the sizeable shower, "there's plenty of room."

She nodded yet making it clear to him that there would be no intimate contact in the shower. "Wait—the tub's almost full," she said, her eyes brimming with a shimmer of gold.

Knowing her eyes sent a message of excitement, Grissom was soaped and rinsed before Sara was undressed.

"I've learned to be fast," he said with a laugh, reaching for a towel and wrapping it around his waist.

Standing in the shower, Sara laughed as he dripped and splattered water across the floor. Suddenly, she turned her face into the shower as tears formed in her eyes; unexpected emotions rolled through her body. Quickly, she twisted the water to cold and gasped at the sudden change. Just as her life had changed, she thought. One moment she was sure nothing would ever change; the next minute, she'd made a life-changing decision. Left it all—walked away with her heart filled with hope.

Wiping water from her face and reaching for a towel, she stepped out of the shower just as Grissom turned on jets and had the water frothing and swirling around the tub. He was sitting in the tub looking like a satisfied teenager. Sara laughed, thinking, 'a kid with gray hair and a scratchy beard'.

"Come in, dear—it's almost perfect!" Grissom said just before he ducked completely under water, came up and blew water out of his mouth, laughing.

Unconsciously, Sara hesitated, so briefly she did not realize it until Grissom sat up in the tub, his face changing from amusement to concern.

Quietly, he said, "We're good, Sara. It's been a—a great day. Get in—we—we can relax." He held out his hand. "It does feel wonderful in here."

Her uncertainty disappeared before he'd finished and she took his hand, dropped her towel, and stepped into the warm, churning water. Grissom moved his legs to one side, giving her space to decide how and where she wanted to sit. Sara lowered her body into the water, motioned for his legs to move so she could sit between his knees.

Keeping his hand in hers, she said, "It has been a long day—I—I think I've been up for twenty-four hours."

"Rest—relax," he said. With a chuckle, he added, "Sleep if you want—I'll keep you from drowning."

She sank between his knees, scooted backward until her back rested against his chest; the feel of her skin drove him to an edge he had not felt in long months. A slow breath, a sigh came out of him. Her head came back to rest on his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head.

Clinking sounds came from the bedroom; the food he'd ordered had arrived. For a minute, they were quiet, soaking in the whirlpool of relaxing warm water until they heard the click of the door and by then, there was no hiding Grissom's arousal.

He shifted, reaching for a towel with the intention of covering his erection. He wanted to be snuggled up with Sara in the next room. But he wanted to give her time, for her to set the pace for what happened next.

As he struggled to figure out what to do, Sara turned, smiling, saying, "I think it's time we moved to the bed, don't you." And they did…

"I've always loved you." Her voice was quiet, steady.

He was ready to make love to her on this wide white bed covered in bedding that smelled of fresh air. She touched his face, his lips, threaded fingers through his hair. She was naked, vulnerable, willing him to continue.

He kissed her mouth, her eyes, the tops of her breasts, her thighs, and her stomach; he flicked his tongue over her nipple and took it into her mouth and felt her nails press against his back. Her legs widened to receive him, and then he was deep inside her, the welcoming grace of her thighs embracing him. Her moans and the wet caress of her body came to him as gossamer waves sliding over heart shaped cells of his body. He felt he was dissolving; his heart twisted as his orgasm burst deep inside her.

Minutes later, sweaty and hot, already longing to enter her again, Gil Grissom realized that Sara Sidle had saved him from himself.

_**A/N: Thank you for reading. Thank you for your comments and encouraging words. Now-one more chapter or several more? Send your suggestions! **_


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: A new chapter...and more chapters to come due to your encouraging words! Keep reading, keep sending your comments! Enjoy!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 8 **

Sara woke out of a sound sleep. Diffused light made her cocoon bright enough that she knew it was long passed early morning. The bed was a tangle; one sheet was wrapped around her legs, several pillows were against her back, more stacked at the foot of the bed. She realized her feet were on one side of the bed, her head on the other and felt she was alone in the huge bed. And the fresh smelling sheets of the night before now smelled of—she snickered—smelled of sex.

Not moving, she did a quick assessment of her condition—naked—she had not worn clothing since the shower. There was a bit of a tingle around her neck and jaw—pretty sure it was beard burn. Stretching her legs, she realized her inner thighs felt raw—more beard burn—not just her thighs were sore, she thought, as she untangled and pushed the covers away from her face and squinted in the bright light.

They had made love until hunger, exhaustion and sleep had overcome physical desire for each other. After practically devouring each other, they had consumed a tray of cheese and fruit and cookies, most of a bottle of wine, and made love again. It was interesting how each remembered what the other enjoyed, what brought the other to the perfect exquisite climax. After a few hours of sleep, she had gently kissed his shoulder and he had responded. Two starving humans who'd been without a morsel of food had suddenly found a smorgasbord.

Sara was amazed at Gil Grissom's stamina; smiling at her thoughts, she raised herself up in bed and looked around. He said he'd been saving up; she believed it but so had she. They had made a puddle of their own body fluids—not sweat—so wet they had used the sheets to dry. She kept smiling as her body tightened and tingled; the memories of their love-making could bring her to orgasm—a small one—if she thought about what they had done during the night. The ecstasy had been powerful, intense; her eyes closed for a few minutes as her mind and body reacted to the passion, to the bliss of being with the man she loved.

Opening her eyes, she looked around to find a very neat and beautiful room—even more so in daylight. Light was coming from open French doors and she could smell salt-tinged air with an underlying hint of coffee. Her robe, one she'd had for years and saved for special occasions, was folded over a near-by chair which meant someone had opened her bag.

All traces of the food they had consumed had disappeared. Towels were no longer thrown on the floor.

Getting out of bed, she winced. It had been a while since she'd had this kind of physical activity and she felt the tenderness as she put on her robe and walked to the bathroom. There she found her toothbrush, hairbrush, lotion, and a few other toiletries lined beside the sink. In addition, an assortment of items found in high-end hotels filled a basket; if the basket had been there the night before, she'd not noticed. Picking up one of the bottles, she was surprised it was a moisturizer for sensitive skin—and something she could use immediately.

Taking several minutes, she brushed her teeth, washed her face, and pressed a warm wet cloth to a very sensitive part of her anatomy. She patted moisturizer on her neck and chin, on the red areas of her thighs. Then she went searching for the man in her life, who had let her sleep, placed her robe so she'd have it, and—she sniffed the air—had coffee somewhere nearby.

Gil Grissom had managed to slip from the bed without waking his lover. She was beautiful in sleep, relaxed, contentment on her face. With complete abandon, she had taken him with such desire that any doubt between them was gone. They had made love—several times—in the night, surprised at his ability to response to her in multiple ways. He smiled, thinking, it had been too long since they had been together.

Once he'd gotten out of bed, he stepped to the deck and called the front desk to make several requests. The first was to ask for two additional nights in this room at the top of the building—which was quickly approved. The second was for food and a few items he thought Sara might want—he was specific and room service was happy to oblige.

Returning to the room, he unpacked his bag as well as Sara's, surprised to find a short silk robe he had given her years ago in her bag. He unfolded it and placed it on a chair near the bed. He took a quick shower, hoping the warm water would help the soreness he was beginning to feel.

A few minutes later, he opened the door to the small-two-person elevator for the room service porter who rolled a cart into the room and quietly removed the other one. His requested newspaper was folded beside one of the covered trays and a basket filled with sunscreen, a shaving kit, several bottles of special toiletries, and a pair of socks was handed to him by the porter.

Immediately, he used the shaving kit.

An hour passed before he heard stirrings from the bedroom; he'd been on the deck with coffee and the paper and had eaten one of the flaky pastries. Suspecting she needed a few minutes on her own, he stayed on the chaise lounge, tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sun warming his face.

"Good morning, Gilbert."

Grissom opened his eyes to a dream-come-true; Sara stood in the doorway still dazed and tousled from sleep, her hair in a curling mass. As she stepped toward him, her long legs escaped the loosely wrapped robe and warmth stirred in his groin.

He dropped the newspaper onto his lap, thinking he'd cover the growing bulge so it wasn't the first thing she noticed.

It wasn't. Sara leaned over and kissed his recently shaved cheek, saying, "Look at you! Shaved and smooth!" Her hands cradled his face as she straddled his legs. She kissed him again. "And you smell good!"

His husky response was, "I should have done it last night." His finger touched her neck. "Sorry about this," he said as he lightly stroked the redden area on her neck and jaw. "You smell delightful and look beautiful—I smell of coffee and look like I pulled an all-nighter."

Kneeling with her legs on either side of his, Sara laughed. "That's nothing—look at this." She swept her robe back to reveal her thighs, both showing dark red swathes along each leg up to her…

His breathe caught in his throat as her robe opened up. She was sitting on her knees, his legs between hers, and the visual of her—her body—caused a surge of heat that caused him to gasp as his eyes widened and his pants felt as if they would rip open.

He was sure it was only a second, maybe two seconds, before he managed to breathe but Sara flicked the newspaper away from his lap as she slid forward. The grin on her face was seductive, enticing, mesmerizing; her long fingers pressed along the protrusion in his pants. He felt as if he'd never been as hard as he was at this moment.

Sara's voice purred as she said, "After a nap, you appear…" She released the snap on his pants and, he would swear to it, his erection popped the zipper. Her warm hand slipped around his penis; her thumb caressed its head as her lips touched his.

His body jolted and shuddered at the desired yet unexpected play. As Sara kissed and fondled him, he heard her whisper, "Once more before we check out of this place."

Breathlessly, he said, "We're here for two more nights—we—I thought we needed…"

The kiss she gave him stopped his words.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmured between deep, wet kisses as they scrambled from the chair and headed back to bed.

As if by magic, they were in the wide bed with cloud-soft pillows, clothes left in a heap on the floor. Grissom was leaning over her, his mouth playing with hers with prolonged kisses that had no end. The length of his naked body pressed against hers, hard and hot, with his springy nest of hair tickling her thighs. He nibbled his way down her stomach, his tongue finding places that caused her to twitch in pleasure. She felt his fingertips probing between her thighs; she was already wet but with one finger he teased, circled delicate flesh as she gasped with pleasure.

As he nudged her legs apart, she felt the silken weight of his sex brush against the inside of her leg while his hand and fingers played lightly and gently between her thighs. Too gentle, she decided, as a wonderful tension built within her body. While his fingers worked inside her, the tip of his tongue circled her nipple in a way that sent fire through her body.

She wanted him, tugging him upward as she whispered his name, wanting his mouth on hers, wanting more than his fingers and tongue. He slid up and with sensuous precision, just as a tide of ecstasy swept over her, he was inside her, hard, slick, filling her with intense pleasure.

Sara looked into tender blue eyes as he held still inside her with infinite patience before kissing her. As his body began to move in slow, slippery strokes, she moved with him. The world beyond this room vanished from awareness; the mixed of scents, the physical sensation of this man surrounded her as the sound of pleasure came from her throat as her climax shuddered, tumbled into a whirlpool of ecstasy.

Seconds later, he groaned as he reached his own climax, throbbing palpably inside her. When he made to withdraw, she held him, murmuring, "No, not yet."

He rolled them both to their sides, their bodies joined. His fingers drifted over her back drawing circles that felt erotic to Sara. She said, "This is a dream, isn't it?"

Grissom's lips wandered lightly from her cheek to her jaw; his arm wrapped beneath her shoulders. When he opened his eyes, she saw the warm intimate intensity that she'd loved for years.

He said, "No, this is no dream, dear." His hand moved from her back to her face where he pushed her hair behind her ear. A slow smile spread across his face. "Let's get married."

_**A/N: Take a breath and send us your comments! More to come!**_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: _This chapter is not on the level of the previous one! Enjoy!_**

**FOLD**

**Chapter 9 **

Outside, life went on as usual. The day was fine, cool and sunny. A slight breeze brought a tingle to riggings on sailboats in the marina, a rustle to the palm trees near the deck. Inside, the bright room was quiet except for the soft breaths of the two lovers.

The last thing Sara expected to hear was a proposal—in the way only Gil Grissom would propose. Several long moments passed. Pulling her face away from his, she said, "I've tried the marriage thing—it—it didn't work out very well."

In reality, she did want to marry him but not this way. She knew he loved her; she loved him but, admitting only to herself, getting married again scared her to death.

Grissom raised his head, arched one eyebrow, and stroked her cheek with one finger. Gently, he said, "I was the one who made a wreck of our marriage—not you. My ability to communicate my feelings was—is—is almost non-existence, especially to someone I care about." A big sigh. "I didn't return your calls—I—I got wrapped up in—in doing all this other stuff and forgot—didn't keep my word."

The look on his face was one of unendurable worry; his voice apologetic. Sara closed her eyes willing herself to calmly respond. When she opened her eyes, Grissom was rubbing his eyes with his fingers while keeping the other hand on her face.

Tentatively, she said, "I've always loved you, Gil. I have asked myself a thousand times a day what happened to us—what did I do wrong." She placed her hand on his cheek; her thumb traced an invisible circle. Her lips made a fine line before she continued, "I always expected to hear from you on my birthday—of course, I didn't and—and talked myself into believing that you—you were busy—saving the world." A smile ticked up the corners of her mouth as she said, "Doing your Jacques Cousteau thing."

Grissom's hand moved to her hair when her finger continued touching his face. His lips parted to speak but Sara's finger covered his mouth.

She continued, "I had decided I'd never see you again and then you appeared in the lab." Softly, she made a quick laugh. "When I saw you—it was as if—as if three years disappeared. I—I wanted to say so much." Another wry laugh. "I guess we—neither of us—are very good at communicating."

"Your birthday was two weeks ago."

"Yeah," Sara nodded. Keeping her hand on his cheek, she said, "We can't get back those days—months—I learned that a long time ago." He looked so despondent that she leaned to his face and kissed him before she said, "I love you, Gilbert." She smiled, adding, "I'll marry you—one day—not this week." She kissed him again, harder, deeper. "This week I want to do what we've been doing. I want to be with you on your boat. I want to see the ocean, be with you every day. Sleep with you at night. Make love to you. Listen to your heartbeat when you sleep."

A quiet growl came from his throat and he pulled her against him. "I'm sorry, Sara. I will never leave you again. I swear I'll never let you leave me." He took her head in his hands; his mouth slid over hers in a kiss that was brief, soft, and so intense that she felt her life shift into a new direction.

...The deep translucent blue of the ocean spread west with stunning clarity on this calm day. The gentle rolling Pacific Ocean seemed to shine with a colorful intensity from its blue depths. To the east, the craggy hills of Catalina Island marked a dark line on the horizon.

Sara Sidle drew a deep breath of cool air and tried to concentrate on what was happening in the water around her. A huge sea turtle, tangled in fishing lines, was being cut free by a group of divers while Gil Grissom recorded their work.

Queasiness gripped her abdomen as saliva pooled in her mouth and she knew she was going to be sick. Quickly, she crossed to the other side of the boat and puked into the ocean. Almost immediately, a dozen small fish congregated around her vomit for a feeding frenzy. She poured water into her mouth and spit it out; no fish gathered around the water.

Raising her eyes, she settled on the dark line of Catalina to the east. Focusing on the horizon was supposed to help with sea sickness. Her stomach rebelled again; she quickly swallowed water and leaned over the rail as she gagged again, throwing up water.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she concentrated on the horizon again.

It had been four weeks since she'd found Grissom in San Diego and changed her life. She smiled at the thought of what had happened in that time—and what she had discovered about his life away from Las Vegas. His mother had owned several properties in Venice Beach, purchased years before the area had gentrified into million dollar homes. Grissom lived in an apartment above one of the businesses when he wasn't on his boat and was landlord to three rental houses.

The apartment was small with one bedroom, crowded with boxes Grissom had never unpacked. The bed, king size, expensive memory foam, sat in the middle of the small bedroom making it impossible for any other furniture to be in the room. He had dumped half of his clothing into a box so she would have a place for her things. Sara, not ready to return to Las Vegas, had purchased a few items to add to the clothes she'd packed the day she had left.

A week ago, one of the renters had called to say he was moving in a month. When the house was vacant, they could move in—they had both sighed with relief—and now they were making plans to move into the house. A house—a home together—Sara had put the Vegas house on the market the same day.

"Hey, are you all right?" Grissom came behind her, placing his arm around her shoulders, saying, "You missed the release! Big guy swam away with no problem."

"That's good—I'm good."

He said, "It's not getting better, is it? You know—a prescription might…"

They turned toward the second boat as the divers climbed into it and whooped and yelled at their success, calling for Grissom and Sara to join them in a celebration.

"Go—go," Sara encouraged. "I think I'll stay here—this stomach isn't settling."

Grissom shook his head. "We'll head back—can I get you anything? Ice?"

The noise from the divers was less noticeable as the boats drifted apart. Sara turned, facing Grissom, and kissed him.

When they separated, she said, "Remember when we were in San Diego—you said we should get married—I—I—think—I think we should get married."

At his look of surprised, Sara added, "Do you still want to get married?"

"Yes—yes!" He kissed her, hugging her tightly as he molded his lips to hers. A moment later, he dragged his lips to her throat, asking, "Tomorrow? What about tomorrow?"

With a laugh, Sara pulled away, holding up one finger as she took a swallow of water from her bottle. A few seconds later, it came back up. She managed not to sink to her knees as weakness seemed to engulf her body.

Grissom fished around and pulled out his handkerchief, doused it with water and wiped Sara's mouth. "Let's get moving—maybe that will help."

"Sorry." Sara looked at his concerned face; there was a multitude of things she wanted to tell him. She said, "Can we wait a few minutes? I—we should talk—and," she looked around at the calm ocean and clear sky. "This is a good place—and I love being out here even when I'm throwing up."

"About getting married? We'll do whatever you want—I'm for anything." His face radiated happiness. She realized his arms were supporting her.

Sara placed her hands on his shoulders. "I'm—I'm not sea sick, Gil. I'm pregnant."

Two weeks ago, she'd realized she was late but that had happened before in the past but this time, it was different. A few days later, she had purchased a pregnancy test and there it was—in the small bathroom in the apartment—a little blue line appeared. She was pregnant. She had sat down in the bathroom and hardly dared to breathe. A few minutes later, she used a second test that showed the same results.

Four years before, she'd been pregnant and for the third time, she had miscarried. Mentally and physically, it had taken her a while to get over it. She was almost forty at the time and the physician had been dubious about another pregnancy. They had been disappointed; she had seen the sadness in Grissom's face but he never spoke about it. She had known their inability to express feelings—come to terms with their desire for a family—had caused him to leave Vegas—and, she was certain, one of the reasons for his long absences that eventually led to their divorce.

Now, she watched his face as his mouth tilted up. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes crinkled with happiness. He whispered, "A baby." His hand passed across his face and his smile widened. "A baby—I—I—how far along? You haven't seen a doctor—one of those home pregnancy tests?" Pulling her into a tight hug, she felt his soft laugh as he said, "We're going to have a baby."

She did not have the heart to remind him of her previous pregnancies so she nodded her head, quietly saying, "It's early—this—vomiting isn't sea sickness. It's morning sickness in the middle of the day."

Grissom had quickly figured out the timing. He released his hug but kept her in his arms. He said, "We've been together for a month—so that would mean you were ovulating—the first week." Bringing her back into a strong hug, his laughter formed and surfaced as a throaty chuckle. He said, "I knew I'd been saving up for years—too long—that night in San Diego when we couldn't let go of each other! You were ripe and I was loaded!" His laughter swelled, became infectious as Sara joined him until his mouth found hers, catching her top lip and then the lower, in nuzzling half-open caresses that sent joy-filled pleasure through her body.

Suddenly, the boat rocked with swells of gentle waves surprising both so they turned toward the ocean. Just beneath the surface, twenty feet away, was a pod of blue-gray bottlenose dolphins swimming in a V-shape. With the synchronization of dancers, five or six dolphins broke the surface and make a perfect arc in the sparkling daylight. No sooner had they splashed back into the water than five or six more shot out of the water. A small one, obviously a baby, cavorted among the larger ones.

Sara and Grissom stood, transfixed, watching the dolphins play until the animals disappeared into the blue. Sara turned and nodded, a smile spread across her face. Grissom, tilting his head toward the fly bridge, took her hand, kissed it, and followed her up the ladder.

The sun bathed the boat in golden light for the ninety minutes to the marina near Venice Beach and, even after she threw up three more times, Sara felt a new kind of strength by the time Grissom had tied the boat to the dock. His smile never left his face, even as she vomited and he had given her water to drink so she wouldn't dry heave.

He held her hand as she stepped from the boat and then hugged her when he stepped on the dock. He said, "We are going to be fine." Easily, he smiled. "We're going to need that house more than ever."

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! We look forward to hearing from you! **_


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Thank you for reading and for your kind words! Moving on...**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 10 **

It was a stifling day for southern California due to fires to the north and a hot Santa Anna wind. A suffocating conflux of heat, smoke, and humidity doused the congested city in a smog of misery. Tempers flared in congested traffic as everyone with a vehicle seemed to be headed to the beaches. Few people were on the sidewalks as Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom entered a non-descript mid-rise office building.

The temperature was cooler inside the building. The clinic on the first floor was a well-to-do, cushy place with beaming receptionists and fresh flower arrangements as big as grocery carts. As they were greeted and given an Ipad to check in, Sara noticed there were no waiting patients.

Restless, she fidgeted in the apricot-colored chair while Gil Grissom looked relaxed and content in this waiting area designed for women. Sara returned his grin—he was the reason she was here—in more ways than one.

She had continued vomiting, occurring so often that she was no longer able to keep much food in her stomach. Finally, Grissom had insisted, she had called her physician in Las Vegas who had managed to get her an appointment with this clinic's nurse practitioner.

A door opened and a matronly nurse called her name. When Sara stood, she took Grissom's hand. He was going with her to share whatever was going to happen next. The nurse—in her starched uniform and name tag there was no mistaking her credentialing authority—read Sara's name and date of birth from a paper in a thin folder, then took her to a small room with a narrow examining table and three chairs. Here, the large art work on the wall reinforced the affluent clientele seen by the clinic.

The nurse asked more questions, handing a plastic basin to Sara a few seconds before needed and then handed her a cup of water. "You've got it bad, sweetheart," the woman said as she took the basin, rinsed it and passed it back to Sara.

Her uniformed crinkled as she sat in the vacant chair. She said, "Now, here's what is going to happen today." She snapped on gloves and prepared Sara's arm for drawing blood. "You are first-up this morning so it will take about an hour to get the results, so after Susan sees you, you'll have time for…" She grinned, saying, "Maybe walk around the building if you don't want to get something to eat or drink. By noon, you'll know what's ahead." With a motherly pat to Sara's knee, she said, "We run the best clinic in the area—and we'll take good care of you."

A few minutes later, a much younger woman knocked on the door and walked in, extending her hand to Sara and then to Grissom as she introduced herself as the nurse practitioner, Susan McKay.

Sara's intake of air was audible as she realized the woman who appeared to be a teenager was the practitioner; she managed a cough to disguise her surprise. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the smile on the older woman's face as she left the room.

Quickly, the three went over the information Sara had given with more questions asked—Grissom's blood type, childhood illnesses, recent sexual history. Susan McKay's face remained impassive as Sara and Grissom related the past six weeks of their lives but when Grissom said "I was loaded and ready", she laughed.

After apologizing as she labeled Sara an "advanced maternal age pregnancy", she said: "Your health history is excellent," the practitioner explained, "no pre-existing conditions except for your earlier miscarriages. Sometimes that's problematic but we'll keep a close watch on you. You've done your homework—and we will do all we can for a positive outcome." Asking if they could return in an hour for a longer appointment, Grissom and Sara nodded. "We'll find a way to treat your nausea, too."

They were punctual—an hour later they returned after avoiding several near-by places that had coffee. Sara had realized the smell of brewing coffee triggered vomiting. She drank a watered-down electrolyte drink purchased in a drug store.

"Now I have to pee," she said. "If it's not coming out of my mouth, it's coming out the other end."

Grissom laughed, hugging her as he said, "I am sure a women's clinic has a bathroom or two."

Before they sat down, the same nurse was at the door calling them back but, instead of a small exam room, she led them to a spacious office. Susan, the nurse practitioner was there along with an older woman Sara immediately knew was a physician. She gripped Grissom's hand just as he did to hers. Both knew a physician's visit was not on the schedule.

The nurse seemed to notice their silent reaction and smiled as she held out her hand toward two upholstered chairs and softly said, "The office is better than one of those tiny rooms for what you're going to hear." With those words, she disappeared behind the closed door.

The physician immediately introduced herself as Margaret Chow. Sara was trying to read all the framed diplomas and specialty certifications arranged in a cluster behind the desk as she tried to process why they were seeing the physician.

As soon as everyone was settled in a chair, Dr. Chow opened up the file on her desk, saying, "Your blood work looks perfect—no problems—and yes, you are pregnant." She paused. "Very pregnant."

Sara and Grissom breathed again, sighing audible relief, looked at each other and grinned.

The physician continued, saying, "You know what hCG is? And you are very positive about the dates?"

Both nodded.

"Based on your level of hCG—and we'll want to check this again in a week—the level is high. Fifty percent higher than seen in a single pregnancy." She paused, watching Sara.

Grissom realized the implication first; his mouth dropped open. Seconds ticked by before he said, "Possibility of twins." He said it softly, barely above a whisper.

Sara had not moved but with his words, her head slowly turned to him. She said, "Twins?"

The doctor spoke again, "I know this visit was supposed to be short, but if you'd like—we can do an ultrasound today. It's early but an internal one will probably show what's happening. Or you can wait—we want to check your blood again next week. At your age, we like to keep a close watch, run more tests in a few weeks."

"Today?" Sara asked.

Grissom was nodding.

The nurse practitioner said, "We've done this many times. It—it almost always shows fraternal twins. With identical twins—not as easy to detect but we've done it before."

"How big is this—are these?" Sara asked; her voice trembled as she spoke. Grissom tightened his grip on her hand.

Dr. Chow smiled, "Very small. Each one would be the size of a pumpkin seed—have the appearance of a tadpole. If you are carrying fraternal twins, the ultrasound will show two sacs." She held up her thumb and index finger showing size. "Identical twins in one sac will be harder to detect."

Sara leaned forward and dropped her head. The practitioner immediately reached for a trash can.

Holding up her hand, Sara managed a chuckle, "Not this time—I'm just a bit overwhelmed."

_**A/N: Now we know-not one but the possibility of two little geek babies! **_

_**We appreciate all of you-especially those who take time to send words of encouragement! (Reminder-we can't respond if you are not logged in to Fanfiction!) **_

_**Let's keep GSR alive and well in fanfiction! **_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: A new chapter for the weekend! Thanks so much for reading and we truly appreciate all of you who send your encouraging words!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 11 **

Las Vegas weather in January

was supposed to be cool but as Sara walked out of the airport, the heat felt like a pizza oven. The sun seemed too bright even with dark glasses. She felt drained, exhausted and blamed it on early pregnancy, wishing she could be in a cool room drifting to sleep in soft, light sheets.

With relief, she spotted Grissom waiting at the curb. He had driven to Vegas the day before to begin the process of packing and moving. The house had sold so they had decided to make one trip with multiple purposes.

Grissom jumped out of the car and held the door open. Inside, on the passenger seat was a bouquet of flowers.

"What's this?" Sara asked with a laugh as she picked up the flowers.

He grinned, saying, "Every bride deserves flowers."

"Oh, Gil. This—this isn't going to be a big deal."

He shook his head so quickly that Sara was immediately suspicious. "Gil? We've discussed this—what's happening?"

His crooked smile and evasive eyes increased her suspicions. She waited until he was in the driver's seat before saying, "Okay, dear—tell me—you didn't slip about the pregnancy, did you?"

"No! No—I'm sworn to secrecy." He grinned and dropped his head in a way that meant he was attempting to hold something back.

"Gilbert?"

"You're going to love it—really." His words rushed, "Catherine and Greg agreed to be there and Maddie is pleased we called her."

Sara nodded, thinking this was their plan, knowing there was more.

He grimaced, glanced at her and smiled. "Well, Catherine wants to—she's planning a party for us—afterwards…"

Sara laughed, saying, "I told her we didn't want a big party—she wanted to invite the entire department!"

Easing into traffic, Grissom chuckled. "I don't think she heard the 'big' part. And we've got a suite at the Eclipse." Hurriedly, he added, "The house is getting packed up—movers are there now."

Too tired to care, Sara mumbled her consent with "I'm looking forward to a bed—I'm exhausted. I've grown accustomed to having you sleep with me." She smiled, asking, "Did you find something for me to wear?"

Nodding, Grissom took her hand, saying, "The house is beautiful. You did a great job with it."

"I had a lot of time on my hands." She smiled as she squeezed his hand.

During the short drive, Grissom talked. His stamina always surprised Sara and today, he talked about plans for the next morning. Sara saw only the erratic driving of tourists and felt a slow tug in her belly that felt like a quiet rumble of hunger. A flicker of apprehension flashed through her brain but looking at Grissom, hearing his voice filled with excitement, she forgot it quickly.

She said, "I'd love something to eat—and then a quick nap. I'll feel better."

Grissom drove into the parking garage and handed the car over for valet parking. She felt as if her feet were dragging as they left the elevator but she managed to express delight and appreciation at the beautiful suite. Cheese, grapes, and a few cookies seemed to restore her strength for a short, cool shower before she collapsed on the bed. In seconds she was asleep.

Grissom closed shutters and drapes thankful for the ability to have darkness in Vegas hotel rooms at mid-afternoon. He ordered dinner and went about unpacking several boxes he'd brought from Sara's house.

The day before, Grissom had walked into the house that Sara had made her home and experienced an emotional turmoil such as he had never encountered. Not even when his mother died from a massive stroke had he felt the heavy jolt of what he had missed.

Sara had taken a run-down, fixer-upper house previously owned by a pack rat family and created a beautiful, clean-lined interior that brought the house back to its original style and function. She had landscaped the yard, searched for the right furniture, and brought a natural environment inside. Making a home, putting down roots—and he had taken flight.

As he had walked through the house, he was constantly brought into her creativity—she had found interests outside of work—and he had not been here to help her, to enjoy the results of her beautiful project. Silently, he made a promise to make their new home as beautiful as the one she'd made here.

The packers arrived shortly after he did and went about the process of dismantling and packing all of the things that made Sara's home. She had insisted she did not have to be there—he had laughed when she told him she had made the decision to leave all of it—to walk away if necessary—to be with him.

He had found three boxes of ashes, labeled with names, and placed them in the car. His mother's would go to the cemetery near Riverside where his father was buried while Sara was uncertain as to where to place her mother. Perhaps they would scatter Hank—or plant a tree—Sara had wanted him to decide what to do with the dog's ashes and, as with so much, he had refused to make a decision.

He packed several boxes with Sara's clothes and personal things but finding something for her to wear for their wedding had him at a complete loss. At Sara's suggestion, he'd searched her closet for what he would like for her to wear—and found the dress she had worn when they married in Costa Rica.

Not right, he thought, for a second wedding. The dark slacks and jackets she wore to court didn't seem right either. He had almost finished searching her closet when his hands moved several shirts and he found the dress. Smiling, he pulled it out, checked it for rips and stains and finding none, knew this was the right one.

She'd worn it to a department Christmas party. A simple design with a hemline that seem to float around her long legs and a pale pink that made her appear as if she walked in a spotlight. He had remembered everyone, including himself, being stunned by her appearance.

Holding it at arm's length, he decided it would be perfect—even on its hanger, the dress appeared to move lightly in the air. She would need shoes—and underwear—he filled a box with everything in a drawer and another bag with shoes. He'd let her decide which ones to wear.

Greg had arrived at the house and, after reminiscing about several shared experiences, Grissom had expressed his appreciation to the younger man on his dependability. Greg waved the comments off with a good-natured laugh.

"You got the best girl in the world, Grissom."

Catherine had come in at some point while all the packing was going on with a long list that Grissom had—more-or-less—agreed to everything she'd said. He knew there was cake and cupcakes on the list and wondered why they needed both.

His musings were interrupted when he heard Sara's quiet voice from the bed. She asked, "What's going on?" Her voice was husky from sleep but sounded revived.

"Hey. You sound rested." He stepped from the closet holding her dress in front of his body. He asked, "How do I look? Does this color look good on me?" Laughter edged his questions.

Sara, sitting up in bed, began to laugh—giggle—which made him act foolish, lifting the hem of the dress and waving it around as if he were a can-can dancer as he walked to the bed. Sara laughed harder when he lifted a foot in a mock dance kick before he fell onto the bed.

He said, "I think this will look much better on you, dear!"

And it did. She took his breath away as she twirled around the room laughing at his lateness in getting dressed.

…They had enjoyed a private early dinner in the suite, lazed around until the housekeeper came in for the 'turn-down' service and left chocolate candies, rainbow colored macarons, and a bottle of fruity wine; Sara laid claim to the macarons. He had claimed her.

Snuggling in bed, they had talked about the 'timetable' for their wedding day. They had laughed about a case they had worked years before when the groom's mother had died.

"Nick's car was stolen," Sara said, laughing. "While we were eating at the diner!"

"Nick's coming tomorrow."

Sara pulled away from his grasp and looked at him. "He is? I thought it was you, me, Catherine, and Greg—and Jim." Her eyes narrowed as she said, "Is this going to turn into a—a—bigger deal that I thought?"

"He wanted to be here—and you know Catherine. Everything is a big deal for her."

"I don't want a party like the one she threw for Lindsey's sixteenth birthday."

Grissom chuckled, saying, "We get married at the courthouse in Maddie's chambers. Then we have this—this lunch thing at Catherine's house. She's got it all planned. Cake and cupcakes."

Reaching for the last macaron, Sara said, "Cake and cupcakes can't be as good as these things."

"I'm happy you've learned you can eat in bed and not throw up." He wrapped an arm around her, found her breast and cupped it in his left hand. His thumb gently raked over her nipple. When his lips touched hers, he could taste the faint flavor of strawberries from the cookie. Her leg came over his thigh, moving high over his hip, opening to him.

As she responded, he whispered, "Does the bride and groom make love the night before their wedding—or afterwards?"

He heard her deep laugh as they came together in a tangle of kisses. He felt the spasm in his belly and in his chest as ecstasy moved over his entire body. Slowly, gently, he kissed her until a deep pleasurable sensation ran through her. With extreme tenderness, he coaxed and courted a trembling desire into a gathering urgency of need. Sensation on sensation came as his touch became more arousing than soothing; slowly, he entered her with easy thrusts, utter tenderness, with whispered words of adoration and lust.

Sara had responded to him with a hunger and desire that continued to surprise him. Her touch was instinctive, playful, passionate. Long fingers stroked and fondled and caressed; her lips kissed, nibbled, pressed against his skin as an invitation. Each focused on the other; ecstasy ripened until she shuddered and his pleasure seemed to surge through her.

Rational thought left their minds as Grissom collapsed, his head coming to rest against Sara's shoulder. "My God," he muttered, his arms sliding around her. "Sara, dear Sara. If your doctor had not approved this, I'd have had to enter a monastery for eight months—one in Tibet—or—or near the Arctic Circle."

Sara laughed, suddenly feeling drowsy, experiencing an over whelming need to sleep. "I can't think about that tonight, Gil. Tomorrow I marry the man I love." She kissed the top of his head. "And you can't go to Tibet—or anywhere else without me." Another laugh. "And this little package I'm carrying."

Waking up before he did, she'd eaten crackers in bed, drank water, and taken a shower thankful for no hint of nausea. By the time Grissom was awake, Sara was nearly dressed and slow dancing around the room.

She was a vision of loveliness in the pink dress just as he remembered. Leaning over the bed, she teased him with the words to an old song.

"Gil, I love you so, I always will—marry me Gil, I love you so—am I ever going to hear my wedding bells—oh, marry me Gil!" Dancing away from the bed, she laughed, singing, "I don't know the words—please, marry me Gil!"

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! We'd love to hear from each of you! Getting closer to making them officially Mr. & Mrs. **_


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Enjoy! **_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 12**

Madeline Klein's chambers were on the sixth floor with a dazzling view of Las Vegas and the mountains beyond the city. The clear sky appeared as a bright blue dome; a passing overnight weather front had brought cooler temperatures and swept away the haze and heat of the day before.

As Sara had requested, the group was small. Jim Brass had arrived to drive them to the court house. Catherine, Greg, and Nick were waiting in the lobby; Catherine handed Sara a bouquet of flowers as pretty as the ones she'd gotten from Grissom at the airport. Similar colors, stems wrapped the same way—Sara glanced at Grissom who was talking to Nick.

Laughing and talking as old friends, the group took the elevator and when doors opened on the sixth floor, a collective gasp came at the crowd—court officers, judges, lawyers, clerks, secretaries, several bailiffs, deputies—who gave a collective congratulatory shout as Sara and Grissom stood at the door, mouths opened in surprise.

After several moments, Grissom and Sara understood the quiet maneuvering of their morning, the few minutes in the quiet lobby, and the ride in the empty elevator. Sara laughed as she hugged people she had known for fifteen years. A dozen men shook Grissom's hand, slapped him on the back, giving congratulations on his upcoming nuptials.

Eventually, everyone headed back to work, and the original group filed into the judge's light-filled chambers.

Sara looked at Grissom and smiled. She said, "This is a beautiful place to get married."

The actual process of getting married was quick; Las Vegas had been in the business of providing wedded bliss for decades and Maddie had presided over enough of them to know the words by heart. Which did not mean it was fast.

Maddie had to tell a story about showing up at Grissom's home on more than one occasion and one day she realized a woman was there—unseen, unheard, but she had instinctively known a woman was in the bedroom—she laughed as she said she hoped he did not invite many women into his bedroom. Brass fumbled the rings, pretending he'd misplaced them and then he dropped one on the floor. And Sara's intake of air was audible to everyone when Grissom placed an emerald ring on her finger.

Before Maddie Klein spoke the last official words, Grissom lifted Sara's hand and kissed it.

Sara leaned into him, saying, "I love you, Gil." There was a noticeable quiver in her voice.

Taking her head between his hands, Grissom pressed a hard kiss on her lips and said hoarsely, "I love you, Sara." They seemed to melt into each other as arms wrapped around the other.

The two were so engrossed in each other, neither seemed to notice the quick movements of fingers to eyes or clearing of throats that occurred around them.

It seemed to take hours to leave the courthouse and arrive at Catherine's house; Sam Braun's house had been completed renovated and remodeled while Catherine had been working for the FBI. The rough-stone house with a sprawling white iron and glass conservatory on its north facing side was as close to a mansion as Vegas had.

The entrance hall was as big as a two-car garage with a winding staircase to the second floor. A larger-than life portrait of Braun, Catherine, her mother, and Lindsey filled space along the stairs. Catherine led them into the conservatory with its sparkling pool and splashing fountain, tall palms hanging over orange and lemon trees, orchids and roses in spectacular bloom.

When Sara saw all the flowers, she knew the source of the flowers she held—and had to suppress her laughter. Her husband had not changed much in all the years she'd known him; she knew fresh flowers were not his specialty. Awed by the lavishness around her, Sara did not notice the people crowding into the conservatory until Grissom nudged her and said,

"It seems we have company."

Sara turned to find people coming in; each carrying food. People from the lab—Henry, Hodges, David and his wife, Lindsey, Doc Robbins and his wife, Morgan, Archie, Officer Mitchell, Detective Vartann, Conrad Ecklie—a dozen others—with Catherine giving directions.

Too surprised to speak, Sara watched as platters of steaming broccoli, squash, potatoes, artichokes, and roasted onions were placed on a long table. Multiple tarts and quiches, spring rolls, mushrooms, olives, and tomatoes filled another table. Bright orange sweet potatoes and cinnamon-almond rice, fresh hot breads and bowls of salad greens came in as everyone helped and the party came alive.

Conversations started and stopped, picked up again as others joined as if they had been talking all the time. Grissom was never far from Sara as he watched for signs of sickness or exhaustion but she seemed to float with a steady smile among the group of friends. Good-natured teasing, laughter, often-told experiences, exaggerated stories, and old jokes filled the space as people settled into chairs and around tables.

As if a magic clock had struck midnight instead of six, the party guests began leaving with comments of having work to do, of crime never resting in Vegas, and by the time Sara sank into one of the soft chairs flanking Catherine's sofa, the front door closed on Hodges and Sheriff Ecklie. Nick settled next to her as Grissom moved a padded footstool and lifted Sara's feet to rest on it. Brass was being helpful by bringing wine bottles to a table and pouring it into five tumblers.

"A great party," Grissom said as Catherine returned to the room.

"Yes, thank you, Catherine." Sara said as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "I don't know how you managed all of this."

Catherine laughed. She said, "With a huge group behind the scenes—thanks to chefs and gardeners and a full time housekeeper." She took one of the tumblers and passed one to Sara, another to Nick.

Discreetly, Sara held the glass to Grissom as she said, "I think I need water—I feel dehydrated."

When he glanced at her, she smiled and mouthed, "I'm fine."

For a while the five friends talked about everyone else and then drifted to their own lives. Nick enjoyed living in San Diego, spending most of his time in the lab, teasing Grissom about teaching him how to be a supervisor. Catherine was uncertain of her future; she expressed the niggling thought of leaving the lab, of doing something other than what she'd been doing for decades.

Jim Brass left no doubt that he would continue with his well-paying position at the Eclipse as he mused at the possibility of having Catherine as his official-on-sight boss.

Grissom told them of some of his experiences on the ocean, of moving from insects to sea life almost by accident after a trip to Japan.

"I had gone to Japan with a group studying insects after the Fukushima disaster which was not well-planned and we never got to do much. We ended up in the middle of protesters for Japan's dolphin hunt—which is so senseless." He shrugged, saying, "That's how I got the boat." He looked at Sara, reached and took her hand. "Pretty much abandoned my wife in a real bone-headed move on my part."

Softly, Sara laughed; she had slipped down in the chair to be almost horizontal. She made a soft grunt as she pushed up, leaned forward and kissed him. She held up one finger, saying, "With that, I need to break up this somber conversation for a bathroom visit."

"I need coffee," Brass said, "Anyone else?" Moving slowly, he headed to the kitchen, acknowledging a response from Nick with a wave.

Sara did not feel sick but she did not feel quite right. It had been days since she'd had full-blown nausea and vomiting but she felt a heaviness low in her abdomen. Perhaps she'd eaten too much—or not enough but it seemed someone was always adding food to her plate.

In the bathroom, a sudden weariness came over her and she leaned against the basin for a minute before stepping to the toilet. And then she saw the red—a bright rivulet trickled down her thigh. Quickly, she sat down; a red splash was smeared across her pink underwear.

She was unsure of how long she sat in the bathroom, not long, because when she opened the door, Jim was returning from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. She felt wobbly, lightheaded as she said, "Get Gil. I need Gil."

Jim Brass had been around enough emergencies to realize something was wrong. Coffee splattered on the floor as he placed the cups on a small table at the same time he was shouting for Grissom. The panic in his voice brought Grissom, Catherine and Nick running and as soon as they arrived, he heard the word "blood".

Brass said, "I'll get the car."

It did not take long but by the time he pulled the car to the front door, Sara, no longer wearing the pink dress but now in pants and a shirt, was standing—being held upright by Grissom and Nick. Catherine was on the phone and got in the car with him while Sara and Grissom got in the back seat.

Nick said, "I'll bring your car."

In a whirlwind, Sara went from Catherine's front door to the emergency entrance of Desert Palms Hospital. Inside in a flurry of activity, she was checked-in and the physician she'd had seen for years appeared at her side.

"Catherine called," she explained. "We're going to find out what's going on." Asking a dozen questions, while Grissom and Catherine stayed close, the doctor remained positive. "A scan is going to tell us what you want to know."

Sara was stoic, uncomplaining as she was rolled to another room for the procedure. Grissom, holding her hand, had not said five words since arriving at the hospital. As the scan was done, she watched the physician's face and when she saw the smallest twitch of her mouth, Sara began to cry.

"There's one baby bubble—there's the second," the doctor whispered. "Everything's fine—fine. Here and here." She pointed her finger to the screen and said, "Hud One and Hud Two," she smiled. "Human under development—both look good, growing; placenta looks good." Moving the scan to Sara's lower abdomen, she said, "I need to check your cervix—I think that's where the blood came from."

After checking Sara's cervix, the physician pushed back, removed her gloves, and turned the bright light off. She said, "During pregnancy, your cervix requires more blood—yours is tight so that's good. However, you have a blood vessel that ruptured—broke—a small one and that's where the bright red blood came from."

Grissom tightened his grip on Sara's hand and a smile gradually developed across her face, mirrored by his.

"You need to rest for a few days—keep your feet up," she said. "In a week, you'll be back to normal pregnant activities." She turned to Grissom, adding, "No sex for a week—that's seven days." She began to scribble on a chart.

Sara said, "Gil, go tell the others—everything. I know they are waiting—worried."

The physician waved for him to go. She said, "I'll wait for you to return. She really is going to be fine." She smiled, saying, "I'd suggest you two need to set up a nursery for two—and decide on names." She patted Sara's belly, adding, "And you need to eat for three—start gaining weight." She smiled, "You're going to be a mommy before you know it."

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading- take a minute and leave a comment or two! The next chapter is coming, maybe before the upcoming holiday. Have a safe and happy Thanksgiving!**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: And yes, another chapter before Thanksgiving holidays! **_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 13 **

Gil Grissom remained calm, tender, and efficient as he listened to the physician who recommended no travel for a week, feet up for several days, and to take it easy until Sara's fifth month. Occasionally, he glanced at Sara. When the doctor paused, asking if they had questions, Grissom turned to Sara.

Silent tears rolled down her face.

He kissed her forehead and said, "We are going to be fine, dear."

Then he took over. He found a tissue and wiped her face. He said, "I'm going to take care of you—while you are busy with a couple of little humans under development." Softly chuckling, he added, "Hud One and Hud Two—even though I like Pea and Bean."

Sara squeezed her eyes as more tears overflowed; she blew her nose into another tissue and attempted a smile.

What could have been complicated wasn't. When Catherine offered her house and the unused 'in-law' suite on the ground floor, Grissom accepted. Sara agreed. She was moved from the hospital to Catherine's house with reassurances and smiles from Catherine, Brass, and Nick.

Jim Brass stayed with her while their belongings were moved from the hotel by Catherine and Grissom. Nick appeared with several books, insisting she would be entertained by the stories of an investigator named Flowers. Greg showed up with snacks he knew she liked; Morgan came with him with new tee-shirts and socks, hair ties and soft, stretchy pants.

Lindsey came with gifts—one for Sara and one for Grissom. She perched on the edge of the bed, insisting they open them together.

Grissom lifted tissue paper from the box and waited for Sara to do the same. For the first time in hours, Sara laughed as she held up two soft knit baby caps, one in pink, one in blue. Grissom had the same gifts, two caps in traditional baby colors.

Laughing, Lindsey said, "I got colors for any combination!"

Days slipped by as Sara let others take over. Silently, she accepted the somewhat risky status of her pregnancy and acknowledged her consent to limit her day-to-day activities. Grissom went to the house to check on packing and moving and Nick brought food and sat next to the bed or on a lounge chair in Catherine's conservatory telling stories of work in San Diego. When he flew back to San Diego, Greg took his place bringing chess set.

Every day, someone brought food for dinner and Catherine's housekeeper made sure Sara ate enough. The woman was ecstatic to have someone to care for instead of roaming around the large house cleaning and re-cleaning. She insisted on making omelets or fluffy crepes every morning, talking to Sara as she cleaned and made the bed, rolling back the comforter so Sara could slip between cool sheets after meals.

Sara spent afternoons in the beautiful conservatory with the scent of roses, the fragrance of oranges, and the gentle splash of water in the pool. Resting and restless on a chaise lounge, she chased rabbits down internet holes for several hours each day while the housekeeper fed her exotic fruits and cheeses following by a rainbow of smoothies.

After ten days and another check with the physician, who released Sara to travel, Grissom and Jim Brass left early one morning, each driving a vehicle filled with bits and pieces that had not gone in the moving truck. Later the same day, Sara boarded a plane with the smallest, lightweight purse she'd ever carried. She left Catherine and Lindsey in tears with promises to visit and daily updates.

"You don't know anyone!" Catherine exclaimed. "I wish you'd stay here—another week."

Sara laughed, saying, "I want to be with Gil. The house should be almost ready—and I've promised everyone I'll take it easy." She hugged Catherine and whispered, "I know this is a miracle in the making at my age. A few weeks until we get the results of the amniocentesis—we'll let you know what's going on."

"I'll come, Sara. Any time—you know that, right?"

Sara nodded, knowing Catherine meant her words.

When Sara arrived in Los Angeles, she was surprised when Grissom drove directly to the house they planned to move into in a few weeks—or a few months, depending on contractors who were doing cleaning and painting.

As he opened the door, he said, "It's a mess but it's all here and we have a bed to sleep in. Jim's at the apartment for a few days—something about he wanted to make sure you got what you needed!" He held the door open then stopped her from stepping inside. "Our new home as a married couple," he said with a laugh as he scooped her up and carried her over the threshold.

"You know…"

Grissom laughed as he set her on her feet, saying, "I know you don't believe in any of this stuff—but it's fun—and welcome to our new home."

They were standing in a short hallway that connected the garage to the kitchen and instantly, Sara knew changes had been made in the house. She had been in the house several times before going to Vegas; it needed deep cleaning, new paint, new appliances and they had not made much progress.

Sara placed her hand on the wall, saying, "New paint! Did the painters finish?"

Grissom nodded. He said, "Finished and a few repairs made—floors and windows cleaned—and new appliances." He opened a door to the laundry room to reveal newly painted walls and the new washer and dryer. "And—keep going."

She walked ahead of him to the kitchen where sunlight brightened the freshly painted cabinets and walls and new appliances had replaced the old dingy ones. Ignoring the stacks of boxes, Sara turned to Grissom and said, "How'd you manage this? We haven't been away for two weeks—and—and this is a miracle!"

"Things fell into place," he said with a shrug. "And I begged—shamelessly used my pregnant wife to get the painting done while we were away."

They moved through the house, into the living room jammed with boxes and furniture. The house, with two bedrooms and a shared bathroom downstairs, two more bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs, faced one of the Venice canals. Sara considered it a dream house with potential. She envisioned a library in the small downstairs bedroom but for a while it would be a nursery.

"It looks beautiful," she said. "And so clean!"

Grissom laughed. "It will beautiful one day—keep going—outside, dear."

Sara hoped to make the area a garden of edible plants some day. The small patio and yard had been transformed from an overgrown wild tangle of weeds and bushes to a manageable garden with a small tree in one corner. The unkempt buckthorn hedge had been trimmed back but left high enough to provide privacy for the house and yard.

Sara noticed the tree, asking, "Where did the tree come from?"

"It was here—covered with vines!"

Kissing her husband, she added, "Your mom invested well—she'd be very happy we are here."

Grissom nodded, agreeing, as he took Sara into his arms. "It's a good place—a good home."

…Quite easily, days passed into weeks. Slowly, the house became home as boxes were unpacked, bookcases were filled, art objects, photos, and paintings were re-discovered and places found for display.

One morning, Sara felt an unusual movement deep within her belly; instinct told her this was the first tiny kicks of a baby. A few seconds passed and she felt another similar move. She sat on the patio and waited for it to happen again. When Grissom found her, he knew something had occurred, something significant. For a while, the two sat together with emotions and thoughts they could not express.

Finally, Grissom said, "Our lives are changing, dear. In a good way."

Sara sighed as she leaned her head against his shoulder. With a quiet laugh, she said, "I had given up."

Grissom's arm brought her closer. He said, "Never give up." His soft chuckle filled her ears as he said, "Two of us. Two babies. We got this."

Nick and Jim visited for several days, helping to move furniture with Sara's direction; one perfect day was spent on the boat as the four friends went to Catalina Island. As Sara showed off her small belly bump, both men teased Grissom about having a bigger belly than Sara.

Catherine and Greg stayed in daily contact and Sara was the first to know when Catherine made a decision about her future. A few hours later, Greg called to tell her he had been offered the director's position.

Sara and Grissom got to know neighbors learning that permanent residents had created an informal club within the district; three had been in the area long enough to remember Grissom's mother.

On the day they were to get the full results of the amniocentesis, after long discussions, Sara and Grissom had decided to learn the gender of their twins. Back in the same office where they'd heard the news of twins, they sat facing the physician again.

The results of all testing came back negative; Dr. Chow was beaming when she said, "And you want to know gender of each baby? This is the best part of my job—the reveal!" Reaching for a yellow Post-It notepad, she asked, "Have you decided on names?"

Grissom managed to say, "No—no—we've been calling them Pea and Bean."

The doctor laughed. "That's pretty generic names." She wrote something on two pieces of paper and pushed one to Grissom and one to Sara.

Sara read the word in a flash, turned the yellow slip toward Grissom at the same moment that he did the same.

He breath was an audible gasp as he said, "I'm—I'm overwhelmed." His hand passed across his flushed face. "I-I did not expect this."

_**A/N: More to come! Enjoy the upcoming holiday! We appreciate hearing from you!**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**A/N: New chapter! Enjoy!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 14 **

The sun had risen above the city and the sky was one of the glorious blues that occur near the ocean when the sky appears to stretch forever. Hibiscus and oleander bushes were bright in shades of red along the canals, filled with water from recent rains. The sun made the water ripple with light as a cool westerly breeze came from the Pacific Ocean. The air carried the scent of sea and flowers and kept the temperature comfortable.

Such perfect weather was almost an apology, Sara thought, for the hot, dry wind driven fires that had recently come so near the city. She tilted her head toward the sun knowing the wide-brim hat would prevent direct exposure but the warmth would gradually permeate her skin. The sun and shade of tree leaves made tiny footprints along her sleeves.

She felt the presence of another person before she heard the click of the door and footsteps on the deck. Waving an arm toward one of the chairs, her long-time friend, Nick Stokes, stepped toward her holding a glass of cool water in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other.

"Brought you water—I'll get something else if you want it," he said.

"This is good." Lowering her dark glasses, she asked, "Quite the sleepy head—did you sleep well—I hope this is not a result of sleeping in a strange bed."

He placed the water and his cup on a small table and reached for a chair. The chair scraped along the flooring as he moved it and sat down. "I slept like a baby—did not hear Grissom leave or you get up!" He laughed, saying, "Fine babysitter I'd make."

Sara laughed. "Well, you are not a babysitter yet—just visiting a very pregnant friend whose husband is afraid to leave her for a few hours!" She pushed up in an awkward way, removed her gardening gloves, and arranged a chair a few inches so it was next to Nick, and sat down, putting her feet on the small table.

"A few days," Nick corrected her.

She made a face at him before smiling. "I'm happy you are here. And Gil appreciates it more than you know. He did not want to miss this gathering of like-minded environmental 'warriors' of the sea. And I get to stay at home and do a few things."

She'd been pulling a few unwanted weeds from her containers and letting her mind wander in a hundred directions. She had figured out there had been a real garden here at one time with roses along one fence, bulbs hidden among a myriad of vines. She had discovered remains of a stone path intertwined like shoe laces and the tree had, at one time, been trimmed like a Japanese bonsai plant. When cleaning underneath the deck, Grissom had pulled out a weed covered metal gate with twining rope-like designs on it. Now, it hung at the entrance between the public path and their small garden.

Nick settled into his chair and asked, "What's the plan? Is he going to keep following these poachers? Are you going to join him with two bambinos?"

Laughing, Sara said, "He hasn't followed poachers since he got caught in San Diego last fall. He goes out to document what's happened—whales that get washed up on beaches, the damage done by fishing drift nets—we marked several turtle nests north of here. Very safe work—out and back in a day."

"So?" Nick motioned his hand. "The future?"

Again, Sara laughed. "We plan to take these little ones out when they are big enough to survive! I think a week or ten days old should do it." When she saw the look on Nick's face, she laughed harder. "No, not until they are eighteen pounds—maybe by ten months—they can wear a flotation device of their own."

"I know what I'm getting them for Christmas," he said with a laugh. "Can I get you anything other than water? After all this work, are you able to go on that promised walk? You've been working hard at weed pulling."

"Stop teasing—I can't laugh too much. I have to pee all the time—and when I drink anything, it seems to go straight through me. Now, I have to wait a few minutes so I can go before we head out to walk." She raised her dark glasses above her eyes, adding, "And I can still out-walk you on any day of the week!"

With a chuckle, Nick asked, "Seriously, how are you doing? My sisters have had every problem known to pregnancy with the kids they've had."

"I'm good—really good." Sara lifted the glass and took a long swallow of water. "If I can get to thirty-six weeks, the babies are considered full term. Another eight weeks."

"You look good."

Sara snorted a laugh, saying, "Sure I do! I look like I've swallowed a beach ball. A large beach ball."

Nick laughed with her. He said, "You look like you should—you really do. Healthy, happy—your hair looks great. You have a glow about you that really is beautiful."

Swinging her feet to the deck, Sara leaned over and touched Nick's face, saying, "You are the perfect friend, Nick. Now, quick trip inside so we can take a walk."

As they walked along the path toward the beach, Nick kept a hand near Sara's back. He knew how unbalanced a pregnant woman could be even if this striding one was leading the way.

He said, "This is a beautiful area—I guess I'd heard about it but didn't realize how—how residential it is. A little neighborhood right by the beach—doesn't feel like LA is a stone's throw to the east; the airport is right there. Who would have thought Ms Betty would have come in and make such investments in property before it turned around—now this place is high price real estate."

"We are extremely lucky—we know that. Gil sold one of the houses and purchased the boat. He's thinking about selling the art gallery with the apartment to—to have a nest egg for the future but we don't need the money now—so I'm encouraging him to keep it for now." With a snicker, she added, "We might sell all of them and buy a bigger boat!"

Shaking his head in disbelief, Nick said, "Meanwhile! You've got the house looking good. Babies room looks ready—I'm surprised Grissom didn't put some of his bugs in there!"

"He did most of the decorating for that room," Sara said with a bit of pride in her voice. "He decided on bright colors and picked out the photographs. We didn't want traditional—not pink, not blue, not white."

"I like it, too," Nick said. They walked in silence for a while before he said, "With my sisters, picking names was always the big thing—took them forever to decide on a name. So what's in the hat?"

Sara laughed, saying, "Gil says I get to pick names—if we were having girls, they would be Elizabeth and Eleanor. I decided on those very early but—Gil insists neither one be name Gilbert so I'm kind of throwing ideas around."

"Well, Nicholas is a wonderful name—Little Nicky Grissom—sounds good to me!"

Shooting a glance his way, Sara made a smug face and grinned. "We've discussed that—and your previous supervisor—the father of these kids—said—I'm quoting him—'I'm not sure I'm up to raising another Nick or another Greg.' Do you think that's a compliment—maybe?"

Laughing as they reached the boardwalk along the beach, Sara indicated they should walk to the water. Nick took her hand as they walked on the sand.

She continued, saying, "Gil's father was William—so I think we'll go with that for one. The second name is undecided. My father's name was Stuart but I'm not sure I want to use it." She moved closer, wrapping her hand around his arm; naturally, his arm went around her shoulder. "What do you think about James?"

For a moment he was quiet, but then Nick's good-natured quiet laughter came before he said, "I think that's the best thing that could happen to Brass. After all the heartbreak with Ellie, I don't think he's had a lot of personal happiness—but giving him a namesake will," he nodded, adding, "It will give him a new perspective on the future." His hand patted her shoulder. He said, "Those are good names—good names."

They reached the edge of the water and stood for several minutes watching blue glittering waves breaking against the gradual slope of the sand.

Finally, Sara said, "Gil was a bit overwhelmed when we learned we'd have boys—he was hoping for girls or one of each!"

Nick laughed, leaning away from her as he said, "He always loved the girls, I'll say that—but he was good to us. All of us looked up to him—we disappointed him but he never let us down."

"He loves all of you—well, except for Hodges and—like the rest of us—he tolerated Hodges!" Both of them giggled, Nick shaking his head at the memory of David Hodges.

Pointing to a brightly painted building along the boardwalk, Nick said, "Let's get ice cream or something—you're eating ice cream, right?" He wrapped his arm around Sara's shoulders and said, "I'm looking forward to the next twenty-thirty years of watching you two be parents." A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Two boys! I may need to move up here."

Sara gave him an elbow jab to his chest that made him groan in mock pain. She said, "For that, you pay and I'm ordering a triple dip!"

_**A/N: Now you know-two boys! Thank you for reading and commenting...a few more chapters to go!**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: New chapter! Enjoy! We appreciate hearing from you!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 15 **

The obstetrical specialist offices were on the sixth floor of a building with a dazzling view of the surrounding office towers and a far glimpse of the bright sparkling waters of Pacific Ocean. It seemed an eternity before the physician opened the door; a smiling man with a bushy head of white hair who matched several photographs on the wall. He was dressed in a superbly fitted dark blue suit wearing a gold tie. It was obvious he did not do a lot of hands-on medical care but he was one of the top perinatologist in the area.

Sara felt the unconscious authority and knowledge of the man before he had closed the door; she could have been insecure, uncomfortable in his presence except for the easy demeanor, an immediate smile, and eyes filled with contagious good humor. As he extended his hand and she took it, she knew he would be kind.

After shaking hands with both, the physician sat down directly opposite so they were eye to eye and said, "This is a great pleasure. I've heard from Dr. Chow and read your history. She is an excellent physician—who is always cautious. Your pregnancy is remarkable for many reasons," he gave a beaming smile which came across as sincere.

For several minutes, with a thoroughness that surprised Sara and Gil Grissom, he reviewed Sara's history with her until he got to the scans which had brought her to his office. After three ultrasounds showing an increasing pressure in one umbilical cord, this physician would guide the decision for the next step.

"You are having a healthy pregnancy, Mrs. Grissom." His hands remained on the most recent ultrasounds. "I think the increasing pressure occurred when baby two pushed into position—both are head down which is good for a vaginal birth and number two had to work—push his brother a bit much." He smiled again, adding, "If you can rest, keep notes on movements, and get another ultrasound tomorrow, we can keep close tabs on what is happening. I think the pressure will decrease. There is no indication of stress from either baby." He continued to discuss several factors; at one point, turning to Grissom to ask if he had any questions.

Grissom asked, "What must we do?"

When they left the office, Sara had appointments for additional scans and directions to rest with feet elevated as much as possible for the next two weeks.

"If the pressure continues, you'll need a C-section—quickly—but let us be hopeful that won't happen." Again, that assuring smile. "You are healthy—your boys are healthy. Try not to worry—you've got a lot of people taking care of you."

Sara knew why he was one of the top specialists in California; for a few minutes, she almost stopped worrying.

Grissom drove, too carefully, Sara thought, back to familiar streets and their neighborhood. As he maneuvered the vehicle into the garage, she said,

"I never meant for this to happen."

He chuckled, stopped the car, and said, "Stay there." He got out, came around and opened the door, reached for her hand and helped her out of the car, saying "I don't think either of us thought about any of this that day in San Diego." His arm went around her shoulders while one hand ran across her distended abdomen. "Look what we've done. It must be crowded with two."

They walked arm-in-arm into the house, having to turn sideways to enter the hallway. Grissom laughed; Sara made a face.

"I'm the size of a whale."

Leaning to kiss her cheek, he whispered, "You are my whale. Sofa or bed? Lie on your left side and I'll bring—we have strawberries?" Weeks ago, he'd added a crushed piece of fruit to a glass of water and Sara had laughed, appreciated his effort to surprise her in such a simple way.

When he handed Sara the glass, she said, "I'm tired, Gil." Tears gathered and ran down her face. "I've been tired for weeks—I've rested and drank water and ate healthy food—and now this. I don't even know what it means."

Grissom sat beside her, lifted her head and shoulders so she could used his legs as a pillow. Running his fingers through her hair, he said, "Everything is going to be fine. Babies are healthy. You are healthy. This pressure thing will clear up." His hand stroked her belly. "You know, you've pulled a major miracle—who would have thought a year ago we'd be—we'd be doing this."

She managed a smile.

He said, "Drink some water."

"I have to go pee."

He laughed, saying, "That's good—I'll help you. I'll even pat your bottom with a powder puff if that will help."

"A powder puff—are those things still made?" Laughing, she wiped her face with the back of her hand.

Twenty-four hours later, another scan found no change in umbilical cord pressure. The physician assured Sara that was a good sign and scheduled another one in two days.

When Sara and Gil returned home, they were surprised to see someone sitting on their deck. At the same moment, both said, "Catherine!" And their friend turned from the deck chair and smiled.

She said, "I came because you need help." Getting up to hug Grissom and then turned to Sara. "Look at you! I'm—I'm here until you tell me to leave!"

Catherine brought in bunches of flowers she'd gotten on her way from the airport. Red and yellow roses, blue larkspur, a rainbow of gerbera daisies filled vases.

Sara's face lit up. "Oh, Catherine, it's good to see you! Did Gil call you?"

"No, he did not. I came because you are due at thirty-six weeks and it is now thirty-four weeks and a few days. You have to be exhausted—sit! I'll find what I need to make all of us a drink!"

In a few minutes, she learned the latest news. "High pressure of the umbilical cord! That's a new one to me! And—today—this pressure has stabilized?"

Sara nodded, barely able to move her head because of exhaustion.

Catherine said, "Go to bed, Sara. Gil, get her to bed and I'll take my case upstairs. No—I don't need help! Then we'll move on to food and what else we need."

By the time she returned downstairs, Grissom was puttering around in the kitchen. He said, "You came—what if we had not been here?"

Catherine laughed, saying, "And where would you two be? Here or delivering those babies! Sara is pale—she's tired."

Resting a hip on the counter, he said, "I'm not sure she'll make it another week. She's worried sick but the doctors keep saying the babies are fine. If it were earlier in the pregnancy, it would be mean—it would mean one baby would be at risk."

"And now?"

"Both weigh around four pounds and the pressure wasn't higher today so we can hope the pressure drops."

Catherine filled her glass with more wine. She asked, "And Sara still wants to deliver without a C-section? Brave woman!" She tossed back the remaining wine in the glass. "I'd take the easy cut and be done with it! "

"You are trying to make me laugh."

"Yes," she said cheerfully. "Now, go shopping. We need some good cheese and lots of fruit—and whatever else Sara will eat. We'll force feed her if necessary." Pointing toward the harbor, she added, "Check on your boat—I'm here. You need to keep busy—let the sun shine on your face for a few hours!"

Grissom hesitated for a few moments.

Catherine held up her phone, saying, "I can handle this. You are a short call away—go!"

In that way, Grissom was dispatched, Catherine cleaned the refrigerator and swept the deck; Sara woke to find her friend had opened windows to cool air and bright sunshine, placed colorful flowers around the house, and had fresh fruit juice waiting for her to drink.

"Thank you, Catherine. Thank you for coming and for taking charge," said Sara as she carefully lowered her body to the sofa. "I've been exhausted for days."

Catherine handed her a glass of fruit juice, saying, "Feet up, dear," as she settled on the sofa, patting her legs for Sara's feet. "Oh, honey, who did this pedicure? We've got to do better!"

Sara laughed. "Gil did—painted my toenails a week ago. I can't see them—are they bad?"

Catherine made a face, saying, "We can fix this tomorrow! Toes need to look good for delivery purposes. Tell me how everything is going? Really going? Gil looks—stressed."

When Catherine looked at Sara's face—eyes filled with tears—she immediately changed the subject. "Guess who I saw about two weeks ago! Our favorite madam—or whatever she is—Heather Kessler!"

Sara's brown eyes widened. "You did! Did you speak to her? Gil says he hasn't talked to her since—since he was in Vegas."

"I did—and he hasn't—according to Heather she has not heard from him since he left last fall." Catherine grinned a conspiratorial smile. "Has he ever explained their connection? Why does he think she's a friend? She's a conceited bitch, in my opinion!"

Sara laughed, rubbing her hand across her face, as she said, "It's good to have you here, Catherine. Gil and I have been so worried lately—it's good to laugh with you."

"Well, have you ever asked him? About being her friend?"

"No," said Sara. "I think it goes back to when he found her beating the man who killed her daughter—whipping him."

"She was never charged for that! I think she's got a file on every law enforcement officer and judge in Clark County who has been there for twenty years." She snickered. "Except Jim Brass—he doesn't understand it either!" Pausing for a moment, Catherine added, "You could ask, you know."

"He won't tell me! He'll be all enigmatic about her!"

Catherine scoffed a laugh. She said, "Ask him when you are in labor! No man will refuse a laboring woman's request."

Giggling for the first time in weeks, Sara placed her hands on her belly, saying, "I'm so happy you are here—but don't make me laugh. I'll pee my pants."

"Oh!" Catherine moved Sara's feet from her lap, got up and dug around in an expensive backpack. "I have just what you need!" She pulled a slim package from the bag, tapped her fingernails on the wrapping and said, "Disposable panties—I've heard they are the best after delivery—but the purpose is the same. And these are cute—fake lace, purple and black and blue colors—and a bit of extra padding where it's needed!" She pulled each color out of the packaging and handed each one to Sara.

"Where did you find these?"

"Honey, Vegas has everything—these came from 'Discreet Boutique'—I went in looking for something for after you have the babies. But the ladies sold me on these—her most popular item for lots of women, including pregnant ones."

As Sara struggled to rise, Catherine held an arm out, saying, "Pull up on me."

When Sara returned from the bathroom, she patted her hips and said, "I can't wait for Gil to see these cute panties!"

Catherine let out a laughing yelp. "Oh my god, Sara! You might not want to do that! Back when I had Lindsey, we had sex two or three times a day trying to go into labor! I was a week overdue and the waiting room gossip said having sex brought on labor. It's a good thing we were good and flexible." Smirking a grin, she said, "I don't think it did anything but we were happy and—and well-satisfied—and we bounced into labor!"

Sara's hand patted her belly. Laughing, she said, "We've been pretty happy until a couple of weeks ago—once the heads dropped, I—I didn't think there was room for anything else!"

"Is that why Gil looks so haggard?"

Sara started giggling. A few seconds later, Catherine joined her. Both snickered, laughed, hiccuped, until they were gasping for breath. Catherine snorted; Sara laughed, throwing her head back with a delighted outburst.

As Grissom entered the small yard, he sensed a change had occurred. Not just the open windows or flowers on tables, but in the laughter he heard. Not just laughter—it was giggles—his wife and his friend sounded like two young children. When he walked into the house, they looked at him in surprise and laughed—no giggled—one snorted; both looked as if they were guilty of something.

Sara waved for him to come to her as his eye caught Catherine moving something into her bag. If possible, the two women laughed harder

Whatever had happened had caused a much needed change in the house. Holding a poker face, he said, "Ladies—do you need a minute?"

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! This story has a few (2 or 3) chapters to finish it before the December holidays! We always appreciate hearing from readers! **_


	16. Chapter 16

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to read...we appreciate hearing from you!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 16 **

Two days later, Gil Grissom became a father.

The spring morning was crisp with a biting breeze when the couple stepped out of their car and made the short trek into the physician's clinic. They had made so many visits that the reception area was as familiar as their own home and the woman at the front desk waved the two into the inner office with a quick motion of her hand. Routine. Hoping the pressure had dropped. Hoping for no mention of the 'C' word.

As she'd done before, Sara climbed on the exam table, toed off her shoes, leaned back, and waited for the physician. She lifted her leg to check her toes and the colorful polish from her recent pedicure.

After all the weeks of waiting, watching the changes to his wife's body, a final ultrasound measuring pressure to the umbilical cord found a decreased in pressure, and in a surprising moment, the physician and the soon-to-be parents observed a strong contraction indicating active labor.

When asked if she'd felt contractions, Sara said, "I feel abnormal—I've felt that way for weeks!" She laughed, saying, "I thought it was gas."

An hour later, they were in the hospital with an encouraging nurse who had 'natural' birth with twins a few years previously. Sara was able to walk around, take a shower, get into some of the labor positions while Grissom did as he had learned in the many classes they'd taken—be her coach.

Late in the day, when monitor sensors and multiple lines for IVs and a catheter in case an epidural was needed had been stuck all over her body, Sara seemed to gather strength as she blew out a long breath of air.

"Take a break, Gil. I'm fine. Go get coffee or something to eat." She knew his hands were cramping from the continued massage he'd been giving her. Having his hands touching her brought a sense of calm to the process of labor.

He said, "No, I'm here. Catherine will bring me something if I ask her. What do you need?"

Her face contorted with a strong contraction and then relaxed. "Number One is taking his time."

Grissom grimaced with her, asking, "Are you sure there is nothing I can do?"

She gave him a sidelong look. "Yes, I want to talk—you to talk. You look tired."

With a chuckle, he said, "I'm not tired—you are doing all the work."

"We've done things a lot harder than this for a lot longer," Sara said as another contraction gripped her abdomen. She patted the bed, "Sit for a few minutes. It won't be long before we are moved." With twins, delivery would be in an operating room regardless of birthing method. "And then we'll have a dozen people with us!"

As he wiped her face with a cool cloth, she smiled and said, "Tell me something—something I don't know."

"You know everything there is to know, dear."

Biting her lip with another strong contraction, Sara said, "Tell me about Heather Kessler—what's the attraction you've always had with her?"

"Ahh—Sara! Heather? Really? Now?"

She managed to grin. "Yes. Now. The one 'secret' you have—what's the attraction?"

As Grissom studied the face he'd loved longer than he could remember, pale and fatigued from pregnancy and labor, he felt something inside his chest twist. Not physically, yet something turned, opened, and he dropped his head onto her hands held in his. Lifting his head when her fingers gripped his as another contraction took her breath, he knew she deserved an explanation.

Waiting until she had her breath, he said, "You know, I never went to bed with her."

"You have said that—but you had a safe word."

"What? No—we—we never did anything! I…"

"In Vegas—after the school bombing—you said your safe word was 'stop'—when I asked you." Her hands tightened on his again as another contraction twisted and pulled through her body.

Grissom lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers giving him a moment to hide a smile. He said, "I remember that—and I knew you were very angry at me in that moment." Gently, he opened her hand and laced his fingers with hers. "I learned a lot about—about a part of humanity that you and I have never known from Heather. I never participated in any of those practices—I do not get pleasure from pain or suffering."

He reached for the cup of ice chips and placed several flakes between Sara's lips. "And," he continued, "the word 'stop' is never used as a safe word. Simply because the word 'stop' can be used in—in the process. According to experts—in this case, Heather—the safe word is agreed on beforehand and is something like—like 'pickle'—a word that would not be used in—in the—act." Pulling a face, he said, "I—that day in the school—I did not want to talk about Heather—so I said stop. As in stop talking about—about what you thought Heather did."

Sara motioned for more ice which he provided. Clicking the ice against her teeth, she said, "Tell me about your friendship—why Heather?" When Grissom frowned, Sara smiled, saying, "I'm in labor—with your sons! Humor me!"

He laughed as he placed hands on her left leg and began to massage her calf. He said, "You know I was married to my job—even vacations were wrapped around something related to work." He tilted his head, gave her a crooked smile before he said, "I had you around causing a diversion that I was trying to ignore. Then I met Heather—I knew nothing about—about what she had going on! It was as if I'd found a set of encyclopedias on a subject I didn't know existed."

A tap on the door stopped him and a nurse entered. She checked the machines, the lines and sensors, asked questions and finally said, "We're going to move you in a few minutes—time to really get these babies moving!"

As soon as the nurse left the room, Sara said, "Continue! You can't stop now!"

Grissom chuckled. "You know Jim warned me off Heather. He had heard of her—most of it gossip but later, I knew some of it was true. She tried to get people—people with connections—involved with her—as customers or clients, she called them. She knew a lot of people but she had no friends—after her daughter was killed—there was not one person she called. She had a housekeeper who stayed with her. I went to her house several days later and we talked for a while. That's when I realized she needed a friend. It was—it was sad." His mouth lifted in a weak smile. "After that, I'd call her—not often—a few times a year. That's how we became friends—just friends."

Sara groaned as a powerful contraction tightened and held her in its grip. Grissom held her hands until her breathing returned to normal.

She said, "I think Number Two just shoved Number One!" Her face remained contorted with pain for a long moment. Finally, she was able to say, "You make some odd friends."

Shrugging and smiling, Grissom pressed the call button and immediately the room seemed to fill with people. Sara was rolled to an operating room where birthing twins was considered safer in case a Cesarean section was needed. Grissom dressed in a blue gown and was given a seat near Sara's head.

With some directed pushing, less than an hour later, the first baby Grissom arrived, quietly, with a mop of dark curls whose pale skin quickly pinked up with a few breaths.

"Oh, Gil, he's beautiful!" He was small, perfectly formed, immediately breathing on his own.

"Yes," said Grissom with a catch in his throat. "He is beautiful—does he look like William or James?"

Twenty minutes later, James Grissom arrived with pale curly hair, yelling at the top of his lungs as soon as his mouth was cleaned. When he was placed on Sara's chest, she solemnly and quickly examined the newborn before laughing out loud.

"He—he looks like his dad! Look at his little chin!"

The new parents were able to hold both babies before they were whisked off to NICU for lengthy evaluations on breathing, sucking, and swallowing. While they waited for results, Sara was taken to a room where a maternity nurse met her and helped with a shower, fresh clothes, and encouraged her to sleep.

Within minutes of this advice, Sara was asleep…

"Well, what do you think?" Gil Grissom and Jim Brass stood side-by-side looking into a small oval baby's crib that was gently rocking and making a very low rhythm pattern similar to a heartbeat. Inside, twelve-day old Will Grissom was sleeping soundly.

"Catherine said he looked like Sara—and he does! And my namesake looks like you!" Brass chuckled as he leaned over the sleeping baby. "It's amazing how a baby smell stays in your brain," Jim said very quietly.

Grissom rubbed his chin with one finger, saying, "Yeah, he's got this going on. Both are turning out to look pretty good—stretching out—sleeping three-four hours at a time." He mimicked Brass and leaned over the sleeping infant, sniffing as he did.

"Catherine has been a tremendous help," Grissom said. "It was difficult to leave them at the hospital—even though we knew it would happen. But having her here really kept us going. She did everything but put us in the car."

"And Sara's doing good?"

Smiling, Grissom said, "She is amazing—sleeps when the babies sleep. She nurses one while I give a bottle to the other. She can soothe a restless one—I have to admit, there are times when we've been asleep and she's awake before I am—she'll be up changing one and I'm trying to get out of bed."

"You didn't tell her I was coming?"

"No—no—I want her to have a surprise. She knew you'd come as soon as we told you their names and got them home."

Jim grinned, if possible, from ear-to-ear. He said, "It never occurred to me—not in a million years. James Gilbert Grissom—has a strong ring to it, doesn't it."

"Yeah, it does. My father was William—back in his time he was Billy—but this one is Will. You want a drink—strong one? The women and little James should be back soon."

"You going to call him James? I've always been Jim—or Jimmy."

Softly, Grissom laughed. He said, "After he got home, Sara was singing to him one morning and called him Jay. So I think we have Jay and Will—at least until they are old enough to decide for themselves."

Grissom stepped to a cabinet and brought out a blue labeled bottle, holding it up for Jim's approval.

Nodding, Brass said, "I'm making plans to visit often."

Handing his long-time friend a tumbler of Johnnie Walker whiskey, Grissom said, "We appreciate you, Jim."

"Blue label—the good stuff!" He clinked his glass to Grissom's, saying, "To Jay and Will and their parents. May your blessings outnumber your days!"

_**A/N: One or 2 more chapters to finish this one before the holidays. Help keep GSR alive-read the stories, leave a comment, and maybe in 2020 we will see a new CSI movie "20 years after the Pilot-What has changed!"**_


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: A new chapter-not the last one! It will come after the holidays...enjoy this chapter as a little gift! **

**FOLD**

**Chapter 17 **

Christmas in Vegas. It had been twenty years since a young Sara Sidle had spent her first Christmas in 'Sin City'—before the building boom, before the "What Happens Here Stays Here" slogan, before Wynn and Harrah and all the implosions of the old casinos and hotels. She had thought the place was an exotic electrical aurora borealis of blazing lights only to discover a dull and austere décor inside the casinos where marble was a thin veneer and light and sound was constant. She had walked The Strip a dozen times, memorizing casinos and hotels, in her first weeks of living in Vegas.

From the window of the Gulfstream jet, she could see lights stretching for miles—all the way to federal land where a stark line marked the boundary of suburbs and nature. Some where she knew there were ice skating rinks, fake polar bears, colorful Christmas trees, and winter wonderlands adding to the flashing marquees and gaudiness of glass and lights.

The little boy next to her was asleep, his dark curly head tucked in the crook of her arm. Turning toward her husband, she smiled as he looked at her with a familiar and much loved grin on his face.

"You are thinking, dear—this is the way to travel."

Sara nodded.

The private jet was flying advertising for a Las Vegas casino where Catherine Willows was the major owner. There were a half-dozen other passengers scattered in the seats who had completely different plans than the Grissoms.

She said, "It's nice to have friends with benefits."

The child next to Gil Grissom was awake, face glued to the oval window; his little body was twitching with excitement.

Sara said, "I remember the first Christmas I spent here."

"You volunteered to work." Grissom's voice was low and soft as he smiled. "It was the first of many holidays we worked."

Her smile broadened as she said, "Twenty years and look where we are now."

She heard his chuckle before the whine of throttled-back jet engines cut into the quiet cabin. The landing gear extended and the noise blocked out any other sounds for a few minutes. The child next to her stirred but did not wake and her husband's hand covered the exposed ear of the sleeping baby tucked against his chest and covered with his jacket.

Twenty years; Sara's smile remained on her face. She never thought her life would be this—never occurred to her during her first year in Vegas that she would be married to this man—she bit her lip to hide her sudden mirth at memories. She'd thought many times of having her supervisor in bed; he had teased her in ways to make it seem possible but he had always backed away.

Reaching across the aisle, she stroked Grissom's shoulder; for many months, she would be in the middle of the most mundane tasks and have to shake herself as a reminder she was not dreaming the life she was living.

Soundlessly, he mouthed, "Love you."

The bump of wheels touching tarmac was enough to bring her back to reality. Will stirred and raised his head, blinking blue eyes in the brightness of the cabin.

"We have landed," she whispered, running her fingers through the curls on his head.

Across the aisle, Jay called his brother. "Look, Will! Look at all the lights!"

The two young boys chattered as the plane taxied to a stop; people around them gathered belongings, lined up to disembark near the private hangers. Several limos were waiting for the high rollers to whisk them to the waiting tables of the Eclipse.

Grissom kept a hand on the baby, one on his excited son. He said, "We wait, Jay."

"Will Lindsey be waiting for me?" The blue-eyed boy had talked about Lindsey for days and did not conceal his crush on the young woman.

"She said she'd pick us up so we might have to find her or she might be waiting in her car." Seeing the fleeting look of disappointment in the child's eyes, he added, "I think she'll be waiting for us."

The little boy seemed to accept the answer and asked another question. "She said Santa would know we are at Aunt Cat'rine's house. Is she right?"

Chuckling, Grissom nodded, saying, "Yes, Lindsey is right." He ruffled the curls on his son's head. "Santa can always find you."

They were the last to leave the plane; Grissom carried the baby. Sara shouldered a backpack, then helped each boy with smaller packs and kept a hand on each one as they prepared to leave the plane.

Surprised and thankful, they were met by Greg Sanders, Jim Brass, and Nick Stokes at the ramp stairs. The boys shouted with delight as the men picked them up, jostled them around, and passed the children back and forth—until Jay saw Lindsey.

"Lindsey!" His arms extended to her and she responded by taking the child from Nick, hugging and kissing him as he giggled with happiness. His brother wiggled from Greg and joined in hugging the young woman.

The three men turned their attention to Sara and Grissom; their voices dropped to soft whispers as Grissom opened his arm to reveal an exquisite fair baby, plump and dimpled with a thatch of dark ringlets above a cherubic face with brown brows and long lashes that curved in crescents on pink cheeks.

"Wow! She's grown," Greg whispered.

"She's beautiful," murmured Nick.

Brass hugged Sara, quietly saying near her ear, "She looks more like her mother every day!" True to his word after the twins were born, he had visited the Grissoms on a regular basis—the boys called him "Poppa"—and when this baby had been born, he'd been waiting with tears in his eyes.

Leaning over the baby, he said, "Hello, little teeny girl." At that moment, the baby opened her eyes, already as dark as her mother's and fringed with impossibly long lashes, blinked slowly several times before she opened her mouth to laugh, and raised a chubby little hand to clasp his finger.

With his head bent over the baby, with all the hubbub going on around him, no one noticed tears in his eyes or heard as he cleared the sudden lump in his throat. He did not completely understand what had happened when this baby had arrived, didn't understand the magic or the science, but he knew his long worn yoke of despair had lifted and he did not need to understand more than that.

Quietly, as his thumb caressed the baby's small fingers, he whispered, "You're going to have a great life, little Ellie."

_**A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little surprise! One or two more chapters for this story! Leave us a comment or a few words so we'll know you are reading! **_

_**Wishing you the best for happy holidays, merry Christmas, and a very happy year for 2020! Help us keep GSR and CSI alive- maybe we'll get a 20 years-since-the-Pilot reunion! **_


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone reading and letting us hear from you! Happy New Year! **_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 18 **

Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed midnight. Gil Grissom's eyes met and held his wife's as she moved quietly to the bed. Her smile broadened when she saw the silver wrapped candy on her pillow. Perfectly placed in the center, the same kind of candy had appeared on her pillow for years, not in any predictable pattern.

"How did this get on my pillow?" Laughing softly, Sara picked up the chocolate by its paper plume, swinging it in her fingers. "How—why—does this happen? And always only one!" She pulled the strip of paper to pop the candy from its silver paper. She giggled, saying, "One silver bell."

Grissom laughed. "Kisses—it's a chocolate kiss." He walked away from the baby's temporary bed and pulled her into his arms, he said, "We've had a long day—and another one coming up."

Holding the piece of candy between her fingers, appearing to closely examine it, Sara said, "When did this happen the first time? And how does it appear like magic? Who keeps just one silver bell—also known as kisses—around to put it on a pillow?"

Laughing again, Grissom kissed her forehead as she popped the chocolate into her mouth. "Before I had kids, I never thought about them needing quiet time before going to sleep," he said.

Talking around the candy and ignoring what his words, Sara said, "Just one—you'd think that one day there would be two—so I could share—or four pieces so we'd each have two. Two each would be good." Looking at him with laughing eyes, she put her arms around his neck. "And we need to sleep! Tomorrow will arrive early."

Keeping arms around each other, they moved to the bed, sort of tumbled into the fluffy bedding, softly laughing as they settled into the middle of it.

Sara snuggled against her husband's shoulder, whispering, "Will and Jay will be here in two hours."

"They promised they'd stay in their beds tonight—and they are worn out—surely, they will sleep late." He nestled her closer, saying, "If Ellie wakes, I'll bring her to bed—then we'll all sleep longer. She certainly charmed everyone in the house—when she laughs, I hear your laugh." Softly, he chuckled. "I didn't think Jim could be more smitten than he was with Jay and Will, but he's love-stuck—head over heels—with Ellie. It's—it's good to see him be so happy.

"And who gets married on Christmas Eve? Of all the days of the year? Why Christmas Eve?"

He paused to kiss the top of her hair and smiled at the wisp of a snore that broke the silence. With a silent chuckle, he pulled the downy bed covers up and settled in, entwining his legs with Sara's.

Hours later, Sara woke to the touch of small fingers on her arm and the whisper of one word. "Mommy." She reached to boost the little boy into the high bed, automatically reaching for the second one after Jay had crawled over her.

"Our beds got cold," one said in a whisper.

"It's quiet and I heard funny noises," the second one added.

With a quiet laugh, Sara said, "Well, we can make our own funny noises in here."

The bed covers moved as Grissom tucked his sons between then. He said, "Let's don't make any noise yet—Ellie is still asleep."

It was amazing to Sara how fast everyone went back to sleep. She lay awake for several minutes thinking about her amazing life. She and Grissom had never regretted bringing their children into their bed realizing the little children would grow up quickly.

A while later, she woke again from an immediately forgotten dream, remembered where she was, and felt the warmth of Will's body next to hers. Hearing the slow rhythmic breathing around her, she slowly sat up and from the faint light, she could see her daughter curled in the crib. A feeling of ease suffused her as she lapsed back into dreamless sleep.

The next time she woke up, Sara knew it was early morning by the brightness reflecting around the draperies. She sat up before realizing Grissom was standing in the doorway of the darkened bathroom. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her smile; then, he mouthed her a kiss. There was something so erotic about the gesture that she was instantly aroused. Sliding from beneath the covers, she tiptoed to him, picking up a stuffed toy that had been left on the floor and placing it in the baby's bed.

In silence, Grissom closed the door before turning on lights—accents lights at the edge of the ceiling. He said, "I think we have thirty minutes…"

His hands laced into her hair as a flush of sensation spread through her. He kissed her neck, all the way around her neck, a necklace of kisses that barely brushed her flesh. Pushing her shirt up with his hands until his thumbs rested on the curve of each breast, she thought she heard him say "Let's take this off," but she wasn't sure if he'd spoken or she thought it.

By the time her pajama bottoms were off, the shower was steaming and felt like soothing silk as she stepped into it. Without a word, he leaned over and kissed her, a passionate kiss that made each intake of air send a plum of sensation straight down between her legs.

As soon as he was in the shower, they came together, making intricate and automatic adjustments so Sara could receive him while she was braced against the tile wall. Her knees were wobbly; her pelvis made deep arcing motions, urging him on as a sweet moan came from her mouth and then, very quickly, came the powerful explosion of her orgasm; for a moment, she lost contact with her surroundings. Then she felt him come, too, the muscles of her vagina squeezed and pressed around him as a smooth tongue of rapture flooded her body.

Her head was pressing against the tiles when he pulled away. "I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't hold off…I…"

Smiling, she shook her head and placed a finger on his lips. She felt like a wet pool, slick inside and out. She loved the way he looked standing naked with steam coming off his skin. Leaning into him, she kissed him slowly touching his teeth with fleeting strokes of her tongue.

His response was to run his fingers along her spine until he reached her bottom; his hands cupped up, lifting her on her toes, kissing her until they needed to breathe. His body was warm, smooth, and firm against her skin.

For a while, they stood underneath the shower, water cascading over shoulders and making rivulets and streams before pooling at their feet. Grissom reached for soap and lathered her up, meticulously covering her body. Several times he kissed her in places that brought a soothing rush of pleasure. At some point, she did the same to him and during the entire time, neither spoke a word but murmured sounds of pleasure and contentment.

When both were thoroughly clean as well as sexually satisfied, Grissom turned off the water and reached for towels and a thick terrycloth robe. He said, "This was very delightful—we need a bigger shower at home—with a bench."

With a giggle, Sara said, "At home, we can leave evidence of sex anywhere—here—at least it's washed away in the shower!" She put on the robe and wrapped her hair with a towel as Grissom stood naked, open mouth.

After a long moment, he said, "You don't think? She wouldn't?"

"No—I don't." She laughed, "Catherine has known for years that we have great sex, and—anyway, we don't have room in that bed, do we? Not with two squirmy little tots crawling in with us at two in the morning."

As Grissom wrapped a giant-sized towel around his waist and towel dried his hair, he asked, "Who gets married on Christmas Eve?" Before Sara could answer, he saw the door crack open and said, "We have company."

Sara stepped to the door and kneeled to eye level of a four year old. She said, "Who is peeping in the door? Did you knock?"

One blue eye moved up and down. The little boy said, "I need to use the bathroom."

Sara opened the door finding two little boys standing shoulder to shoulder. "Come in." Both rushed passed her as laughter filled the room.

Grissom pointed to the toilet hidden behind a mirrored door.

A high pitched voice said, "Look, Will—the potty has its own room!"

Tilting his head in the direction of the boys, Grissom said, "Maybe we need a room like that."

The sound of playful giggles caused him to shake his head, saying, "Maybe we don't. Leave the door open, boys." Walking to the cubicle, he said, "Use the toilet, wash your hands and let's get dressed."

When he turned, Sara, standing in the middle of the room, licked her puffy bottom lip and pointed a finger toward the bedroom. She said, "I'll get the other one up." She smiled, adding, "Just remember—sometimes quick and fast is—delightful."

_**A/N: We appreciate hearing from you! We've decided to add 2 more chapters-total of 20 chapters-to celebrate the new year (2020) and 20 years after the Pilot! **_

_**Now-send us a review! **_


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N: All good things must come to an end...one more chapter to this one...20 chapters for 2020! **_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 19 **

A morning wedding. A morning church wedding on a fine, cool and clear morning in Vegas. The church was small, red brick, built in the early years of suburban development of the city and had managed to retain a semblance of being set in a small park. Built with a high, domed ceiling; walls with native stones worked among the brick, small alcoves for flowers, and stained glass windows that made it appear to be much older than it was. As a result, in the past decade, it had become the place for elegant and lavish celebrations.

Sara was certain there had never been a crime committed on the property because she'd never heard of it before the wedding invitation.

Two men with enthusiastic smiles held the broad double doors open at the entrance to the church. A vast container of white flowers sat next to each door.

Gil Grissom lifted one eyebrow when his wife glanced at him; both were surprised at the old-fashioned beauty of the place. They smiled as they entered the church and Sara almost gasped at its loveliness.

Sunlight from high leaded windows scattered light over the intricately parquet floor like glittering raindrops. Dark wood walls surrounded rows of pews; the high ceiling was painted with figures resembling those of Michelangelo's ceiling. More fragrant white flowers hung from pews and along walls. A group of chamber orchestra musicians filled the air as Sara and Grissom slipped into one of the rows near the front of the church next to Doc Robbins and his wife. Catherine, Lindsey, Jim and Nick were seated across the aisle. Glancing around, Sara saw a number of people she recognized.

"You look beautiful," Grissom whispered as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

Sara tugged a finger along the edge of lace of the scoop-necked dress. She could not believe she'd purchased a lace dress—a blue lace dress—for the wedding. Grissom had insisted, gone shopping with her, and selected this one that she'd probably never wear again. Her husband promised her that she would wear it again; he'd make sure to plan a date—a special occasion—for them. She had laughed.

Her hand moved to cover her husband's; he looked striking in his dark suit, impeccably dressed and handsome in an irrelevant way that few men possessed. She squeezed his hand, wanting to twirl one of his way-ward curls around her finger, but brought his hand to her lap instead.

"Don't worry," he whispered, "the kids are fine."

She smiled, nodded, softly saying, "Who gets married on Christmas Eve?" She knew the twins and their baby sister were well cared for by daughters of Catherine's housekeeper.

She felt his chuckle as the violins began to play '_Canon in D Pachelbel'_; the air seemed to change and some unseen cue was given for everyone to stand.

Sara turned with everyone else as the doors to the church opened and Greg Sanders and Morgan Brody stepped inside. And suddenly, she knew why the wedding was Christmas Eve, in the morning. As the couple entered the church, a long beam of sunlight from high windows flooded the aisle of the church like a spotlight—only better. At this time, at this place, for a few days around winter solstice—like Stonehenge—the sunlight was 'right'. Biting back a laugh, she leaned into Grissom's shoulder thinking only Greg would know this bit of history about the building.

Greg had been secretive about their plans, saying he and Morgan wanted to surprise everyone with a retro wedding. He was wearing a cut-away suitcoat with gray and black striped pants looking as if he were ready for a royal English wedding. But he almost disappeared in the brilliant luminosity of Morgan's dress.

A collective intake of air seemed to occur as the two walked slowly to the front of the church. Morgan's dress, highlighted by the natural sunlight, was magnificent in cream colored silk with rows of lace around a circle skirt. Her pale hair was pulled back into an intricate roll where the veil was held by a cluster of crystals and pearls.

Sara knew little about vintage fashion but she would bet the dress was an original from the 1950s—or an exceptional reproduction—and from the reactions of the audience, no one had expected this.

There was no big wedding party of bridesmaids and groomsmen, only the bride and groom in a beam of sunlight that lit up the middle of the church. While the couple had walked up the aisle, their parents had come in and stood at the front with the church rector and a judge.

And shortly, in a ceremony as devoid of religion as possible, Greg and Morgan were married. Sara blocked out most of the words of the ceremony as memories flooded her brain of Greg; how he flirted with her for years continuing after he knew that she and Grissom were together, how they enjoyed the same music and had often gossiped about the same people, how he'd always had her back, always her friend. She loved him as much as she would have loved a brother.

Her dreaming was interrupted with the judge's words; a poem or a prayer she had heard before—an old Jimmy Stewart movie when he married a Native American girl. It finished with, "To enter into the days of your togetherness, and may your days be good and long upon this earth."

Everyone applauded as the rector announced the new couple to their friends; Greg and Morgan made their way to the open doors, shaking hands and hugging friends as they departed the church. Afterwards, Sheriff Ecklie reminded everyone of the reception. Sara knew this was the much larger celebration with several hundred people invited, a towering wedding cake, and food for a small army in the grandest ball room of the Eclipse Casino—for the popular sheriff, father of the bride, to provide his political well-wishers the symbolic assemblage expected of his office.

It did not take long for the motorcade of guests to arrive at the casino; having the sheriff lead the wedding guests meant flashing lights and several escort motorcycles to stop traffic on the way. When Sara and Grissom arrived, the party was in full swing—the sound of fifty conversations as hors d'oeuvre and drinks were provided by an unending number of servers—gave Sara the impression that some of the guests had been there for hours.

The reception was an extravaganza with music, a video of Morgan and Greg that could have competed with best movie at Golden Globes, a Vegas style buffet, and tables covered in white cloths and silverware. The sheriff welcomed everyone; Greg and Morgan gave short speeches, thanking everyone for making their day unique.

Sara was not sure how this had come together. Morgan no longer worked as a CSI but in the district attorney office; a job she'd taken after Greg had been promoted to lab director. She knew the couple had lived together for two years before finally deciding to marry—and after their announcement there had been a period of negotiations involving Morgan's dad; his political ambitions thriving at the thought of an extravagant wedding for his daughter.

Grissom took Sara's arm and led her further into the room, which was so crowded they brushed against shoulders, and hands were extended to shake hands. "What a crush," Sara said. Leaning closer, she said, "Everyone remembers you!" Finally, they found the law enforcement side of the ballroom and spent an hour catching up with dozens of former co-workers while eating a variety of foods from soups to salmon, sweetly seasoned baked apples and savory stuffed zucchinis.

The hum of conversation receded as music in the ballroom swelled and the glittering crowd adjusted to clear the dance floor for the newlyweds. What followed was the traditional and beautiful dance of the husband and wife, with their parents, step-parents, and with grandparents taking their turns to dance with the bride and groom.

The music changed again as guests went to the dance floor; Catherine was one of the first, dancing with Nick in what appeared to be an easy, familiar rhythm. Grissom's elbow touched Sara.

He said, "Look at that—those two look like they've been dancing together for years!"

Grinning, Sara said, "I think they have."

The music changed to a slow waltz and Grissom stood, taking her hand. "Let's show those two they aren't the only ones who can dance." He brought her close and they were quickly lost in the midst of dancers, circling with the grace of a bird's flight. They felt at ease, moving together as if they'd done it every day. When in reality, they had danced together on a dance floor three times in twenty years. In private, they had danced a thousand dances in their bedroom, in the living room, on the boat, on the beach.

It was effortless and natural as they had known it would be from the first time they had danced. Sara smiled as her husband pulled her into a hug, his mouth near her ear.

"Do you remember the first time, dear?" He asked.

She laughed and said, "Yes, I do! The policemen's Christmas party—the second—or was it the third—year I was in Vegas. I had a fantasy of taking you upstairs and making love to you all night."

Backing a half-step away, Grissom looked at her with a mischievous grin and said, "I left the party after the dance. I had to—I knew I'd be in trouble if I stayed."

Sara's mouth curled in a smile. "You left me!"

"I did. Took a cold shower when I got home."

Leaning into him, her head rested on his shoulder. The crowded ballroom seemed to disappear and she felt as if they were dancing alone in some private place. The touch of warm breath on her cheek, the press of his hand on her back, the kiss of his lips against her hair; she whispered, "It's been a while since you've had to take a cold shower."

A moment later, the music stopped and Greg and Morgan appeared beside them, both laughing as the tempo of music changed.

Greg said, "You are great dancers—now it's our turn!" He took Sara's hand as Grissom, with a slight shrug of amusement, turned to Morgan.

He said, "I'm a one dance guy, Morgan. What do you say about letting these two dance a foxtrot or the shuffle—whatever it's called—and we'll find something to drink?"

"I am thirsty—and I would love to sit one out in a quiet corner."

"I'm the man for that," he said as they hooked arms and walked away.

Dancing with Greg was an entirely different experience from dancing with Grissom. Over the years of their friendship, the two had partied and danced together multiple times. And to a modern swing, Sara followed Greg's lead around the dance floor, getting her feet crossed up several times as his comments made her laugh. When the song ended, he guided her to the table where Grissom and Morgan waited, both drinking champagne.

Morgan said, "I must dance with others—thank you, Gil, for rescuing my tired feet."

"You are both good sports about all of this," said Sara as she waved a hand at the crowded ballroom.

Greg laughed as Morgan said, "We are—all part of politics—and we are wrapping this up in an hour. Cake gets cuts in ten minutes if I can arrange it." She pointed two fingers at Sara and Grissom, adding, "Tomorrow morning—Christmas at Catherine's with Jay and Will—and little Ellie—we are looking forward to the excitement." With a wave, the newlyweds left them for another round of dancing.

"She's a nice young woman," Grissom said as the couple disappeared into the crowd. Looking at his wife, he chuckled and added, "Good thing I didn't squash him with a mannequin years ago." Placing his arm around Sara, he whispered, "I wasn't sure Greg would ever find another woman to love."

Sara smiled before she kissed him.

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! We appreciate hearing from you! One more chapter! **_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: The last chapter of FOLD...thanks for staying with us! Thank you to those who read and review! Enjoy!**_

**FOLD**

**Chapter 20 **

_A/N: In well told stories, there is a tradition of the hero and his or her adventures, lives are saved, choices made that determine destiny in a dramatic fashion. In reality, circumstances beyond control usually determine if we live or die, become happy or miserable, strike it rich or lose everything. Most rich people inherit money; well fed people had the luck to be born in a country free of famine and drought. Most happy people were born into loving families and most miserable people had crazy parents. _

_Yet life is not controlled in the way a chess player controls his pieces nor is life a poker game or a roulette spin. The truth of life is complicated. Sometimes a person's life is determined by mechanisms beyond control and, quite often, life turns out to have unexpected and surprising consequences._

Sara Grissom—she'd dropped Sidle before the birth of her sons—combed long fingers through her hair before pulling it into a pony tail. She arranged several cookies on two plates and sat the plates on the table, walked back into the kitchen and returned with two small glasses of milk.

The holidays of Christmas and New Year's day had passed and the first month of 2020 was days old as an atmosphere of concentration filled the house. Through the open windows, the cool night breeze brought distant murmurs of sounds—a plane landing, a boat's horn—that no one seemed to hear. Her husband worked in silence broken only by the contented sounds of two little boys playing with small cars and trucks with an old bedspread and several boxes on the floor.

Sara smiled as she heard their quiet voices in serious deliberate play as small children often do. Even the baby was playing with a new toy—a box—removing and replacing the top over and over, looking expectantly into the box. She too was concentrating as much as a six-month old infant could; any moment she would look up, find a parent and demand attention.

This was life, Sara thought, flicking eyes between her children and her husband; she had never imagined this life. A loved partner, happy children, a stable income, contented days that began when a young woman brought her a tape and suggested she watch it. Sara had never forgotten to remind Lindsey Willows of the happiness she had initiated.

Her husband's desk was covered with opened notebooks and a desk-top computer. As she watched, his tongue would stick out of his mouth as he thought. He had an important presentation coming up on the environmental impact of temperature on sea birds—a project they had worked on when the twins were infants and they had limited their excursions on the boat.

"Jay—Will. Cookies on the table!"

The pajama-clad boys scrambled, each taking a small car to the table.

Sara said, "Eat slowly—only two for bedtime snacks and then time to brush teeth." She touched each child, leaning over each damp curly head to breathe in the fragrance of clean hair and skin from recent baths.

The baby looked up, gurgling a laugh as she dropped the box. Her father turned from the computer, reached over and picked her up; he snuggled her against his shoulder making sounds that made her laugh.

Laughing, he said, "You liked your box for five minutes—I think that might be a record!"

Her small hands touched his face before she placed a wet-sloppy kiss on his nose and babbled a word that sounded like "Dadda". Hugging Ellie, Grissom stood, saying, "I'll take care of this one."

As he headed into the bedroom, Sara prepared a bottle and mused about her children. Will and Jay had been such a surprise—within months of their birth Sara yearned for another baby—she had thought she'd never have children, never live with the man she loved until Lindsey had intervened, leaving the taped interview. And very quickly, she discovered she loved being a parent.

Fate, luck, nor fortune led to another pregnancy. Part scientific research, part-science fiction made reality, and the technical skills of genetic researchers they would never know turned a dream into reality.

Elizabeth Grissom—named after her grandmother she would never know—was immediately called Ellie by her brothers; born by means of advanced assisted fertilization and genetic screening with procedures and testing that would have been thought of as science fiction a decade ago. After a pregnancy without incident, their daughter arrived, weighing nearly eight pounds; holding the newborn, Sara knew she had achieved what had been an impossible dream.

Giggles from the table; wiggling little boys. Sara capped the bottle and said, "Bedtime." She pointed upstairs, adding, "One story tonight."

The boys squirmed, giggled, and drained their glasses before they left the table and made a running trail around the table and the sofa. They tumbled up the stairs in a manner that always made Sara think of little monkeys. Her sons were beautiful children, even strangers commented on their appearance. Their golden brown curly hair and brilliant blue eyes ringed with pale gold lashes; their nose, their hands and mouths were so much like their father but different enough to make each boy an individual. Both boys smiled and laughed easily, had personalities that combined quietness and curiosity. And, Sara thought, at age four, they could do so many things without much parental involvement.

From the moment they had set eyes on Ellie, the boys had adored her. Nothing was too much trouble for their baby sister and one day, Will had insisted he would always look after her. Jay had quickly assured their mother saying "I like having a sister and she likes having brothers."

Leaving the bottle with Grissom, who was already reading a book to Ellie, Sara made her way upstairs to the sounds of splashing water and giggles. She checked two mouths and supervised a second brushing of teeth before settling onto one bed for the nightly ritual of reading a story before bedtime.

By the time Sara had finished the story, both boys were quiet, heavy-eyed after a long day spent outside. She covered each one, kissed their forehead, picked up clothing, and heard their slowed breathing of sleep. Adjusting window blinds, she hoped they would sleep longer in the morning; knowing it was wishful thoughts.

She had not realized how long she'd been upstairs until she saw Grissom sitting at his computer, hair damp from a shower. Walking over to his chair, she kissed his head, running her hands across his shoulders and down his chest.

"How's it looking?" She knew he had been working numbers and research results for the presentation.

Scooting his chair back, he turned and stood up, saying, "Not good—worse than we thought." He shrugged, adding, "Not sure anyone will pay attention." Putting his arms around her, pulling her close, he said, "However, this came." He stretched an arm to the desk and picked up a piece of paper from the copier.

Sara took the paper in one hand while wrapping her left arm around Grissom's neck. "What is this?" Her eyes blinked twice; her head tilted as she read the email and then read it again. It was actually several emails, responses and replies.

"We've got a week to decide."

"Oh, Gil," Sara whispered. "I—I don't—this is…"

Grissom chuckled. He said, "We have a week." He kissed her, turning both toward the bedroom. "Check on Ellie—I'll put the dishes away."

When she returned, her husband had prepared two mugs of tea, the steam rising around two cookies he'd placed on the rims. They sat opposite one another in the quiet house. Sara nibbled on the cookie, warmed by the hot tea. She said, "Do you think we can do it?"

Grissom reached out and caught a long thread of her hair between two fingers, saying, "We can—an adventure—for all of us."

Sara smiled and sipped the hot tea.

An hour later, she closed her book and placed it on the table next to the bed. Shifting to the middle of the bed, she nudged her head between her husband's shoulder and his book; he grinned as he closed his book, letting it drop to the floor.

"The world shifted when I met you, dear," he said, a soft laugh forming around his words as he rolled to meet her. Touching her face, his thumb brushed the line of her jaw, around the curve of her chin. His lips touched her ear, investigating it with his tongue. He murmured, "This is a perfect ear."

A low laugh vibrated in her throat; his mouth covered hers. Folded inside his arms, Sara felt her breathing escalate. She loved this man with an indescribable intensity. There was the slow penetration of his tongue, a melting intimacy that sent a shiver through her body. His hands moved in long strokes over her back as her body pushed against his chest.

Warm hands cupped her face as he kissed her; the world around vanished from awareness as her fingers twined into his hair. With a series of deft tugs, her clothes were off. It took less time for Grissom to remove his shirt and pants. As he pulled the bed sheet over their naked bodies, he made a quiet murmur, saying her name as his head lowered. His mouth moved lightly against her skin, coasting up one breast, opening over the dark nipple. A sound of pleasure came from Sara's throat as the tip of his tongue circled the edge of her nipple. Her body filled with heat and the flavor of her husband's body.

When his mouth returned to hers, she kissed him with an urgency that unraveled any self-control. His hands moved along her body while his knee separated her legs, fitting their hips together. His fingers skimmed the line of her leg, her thigh, soothingly stroking her, bringing a low moan of pleasure. His fingers glided, stroked, parted, fondled as if he were playing with a delicate flower. As a tantalizing fingertip brushed the peak of her sex, all rational thought dissolved.

Sara moved upward, welcoming the hardness pressing into her, gasping as her flesh throbbed around his. Whispering, "Gil" as he entered her body, they quickly set a rhythm as warm flames turned into a fire of ecstasy that caused each to climax within seconds of the other.

Afterwards, when Grissom made to move, Sara murmured, "No, no," so he rolled them both to their sides, still joined. She hitched her leg high over his hip while his hands drifted over her back. For a while, they were quiet, listening to the familiar sounds drifting into their bed-cocoon.

Grissom spoke first, saying, "I think we can do this—Ellie won't remember it but the boys are old enough."

Sara snuggled closer. She said, "Yes, we can. A month—It's important work—for you and for the future." Kissing his cheek, she quietly said, "Isn't it strange how life works—we think we are one person. All those years in Vegas—nearly half a century of forensics and now—to use the skill and knowledge to save," she sighed, "to save the world."

Grissom did not move but managed to kiss his wife's temple. "We are saving the world—or a small part of it. You are the only woman in the world I could have married. Who else could—could care for our children and discuss the merits of counting turtles, take samples of carcasses of whales and dolphins—take off on short notice to—to rake plastic without so much as—blinking an eye. Dear woman, I love you." He chuckled, adding, "Promise me you will love me for the rest of my life—even when our kids are teenagers."

Sara turned her head, shifted slightly and kissed him. She settled beside him, nestled into the warm curve of his body and closed her eyes. A moment later she was asleep.

A few weeks later, Gil Grissom went in search of his wife. Several yards away, he found her working, hidden by a pile of plastic bits and crumbs as a warm breeze blew through her hair. Nearby, their children played on the beach under the watchful eye of a teenage baby sitter. The boys were racing in and out of the turquoise water, oblivious to the line of plastic specks and fragments that littered the beach. Ellie was safely ensconced in a shaded playpen content for a moment with dropping rocks into a bucket. He walked over and scooped his daughter up into his arms; she giggled and pointed to the water.

"Where's your hat, baby girl?"

The baby's hands went to the top of her head. "Hat!"

There was no hat on her head so he leaned into the play area and quickly found a pink hat that he placed on her head as he walked to the water's edge.

A few minutes later, Sara joined him, both watching their sons as the young babysitter showed them how to hold small paddle boards.

Sara linked her hand into the crook of his elbow as she said, "I'm going to miss this place."

Grissom chuckled, saying, "It's an excellent place to collect plastic pollution—right under our feet! A slight change in ocean currents brought this massive mess—and the institute was quick to respond bringing people out here. Amazing how much can be identified—and sad how much of our trash ends up in the ocean."

In silence, they watched the two small boys and the teenage boy playing in shallow surf for several minutes. Grissom leaned to kiss his wife who had reached to adjust the sun hat on Ellie's head. He noticed a smudge of pale sand across her cheek. Placing the squirming baby onto the damp sand, at the edge of water, she immediately began to slap the water, laughing as it splashed her face.

Standing up, he placed his arm around his wife's waist and felt the invisible wind cool his face. Sara's fingers covered his and they stood together watching three children play. With his eyes still on the children, he said, "And what are you thinking, dear?"

With a quiet, sighing laugh, she replied, "It's been nearly twenty years since, I left San Francisco—truth be told, I didn't have much there. When I left Vegas—the last time—walked away after Ecklie gave me that promotion in front of cameras," she made a soft chuckle, "I truly folded my hand—got out of the game." She kissed his cheek, adding, "But I won the tournament, didn't I?" Her hand waved toward the kids as she said, "And look at my winnings!"

"Yeah," Grissom said, chuckling as he thought about the last card game he'd played, "yeah, we both won."

The last and final chapter-The End of this one!

_**A/N: Thank you! Keep GSR alive-read the stories! Review when you read! 20 years ago CSI aired - wouldn't it be wonderful to get a special movie 'update' on our old favorites in 2020! **_

_**We will have another one in the future! **_


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